


BalconyAU

by whimstories



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-04-13 13:11:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14113047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimstories/pseuds/whimstories
Summary: Marinette Dupain-Cheng has fallen for the singer who lives above her at the luxury apartments, but she's afraid to call out to him. Then there's this new model, Adrien Agreste, who won't stop staring at her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I made my contract and here is the first day! I would not be posting this if I didn't say I would. There's something about this pacing I don't like but, I can't figure it out. I guess we'll learn along the way.
> 
> I always write to improve, so comments and critiques are welcome! Please rip this to bits! Thank you!

_When she takes me in her arms_

_And speaks softly to me,_

_I see life in rosy hues._

Marinette hums with the fathomless voice bleeding over the Paris apartments, her head swaying to the tunes. The male singing is accompanied, as usual, with a short plucking of chords that reverb like chimes in an yawning chamber.

The sounds wash over her body like floating on a steady sea, the fresh spray of salt water and rhythmic motion of the waves lulling her to comfort. Its a different experience than any time she's listened to music. Even the experience of Jagged Stone's concert when she was a teen couldn't compare. Though his slows ballads are likened compared to waterboarding through a turbulent wave.

Marinette holds her warm cup of cocoa to her lips and blows a small wisp of steam into the winter weather.

"'Hold me close and hold me fast, this magic spell you cast…'"

When he begins singing the English rendition, her slightly warm hand presses to her mouth to prevent the torrential flutter in her stomach manifesting into a giggle.

He sounds playful and confident today. She can easily imagine his mouth smiling around his words with each lilt and vibrato. He is so clear to her when he sings, his days laid out in song in ways a conversation would take hours to convey.

She's mouthing the lyrics before her mind catches up with her, then singing along before her nerves can stop her . She switches up the pronouns so she sings of a male and he sings of a female, but their vocals blend like silken threads to a tapestry. Its one thing to keep her distance from knowing his face, but touching his voice with her own creates a sensation of fuzzy euphoria from head to toe.

The final notes stretch across the streets once more and Marinette can hear the sprinkled clapping from fellow neighbors and strangers down below. She nestles deeper into her chair and hugs the soft shawl to her face, though still feeling warm from the music.

The voice above says a few flourished 'thanks you's to the unconventional audience and Marinette takes it as her cue to rise from her seat.

"Are you going to speak to me this time?" A distinctly pointed shout comes from above.

She clamps her lips to a tiny pucker, the hard thump in her chest halting her movement. Its hard, honestly, not to shout back. It's harder every time, but its the rush of blood to her heart and the light headed fluttering in her head that makes her realize her fears again.

She touches the handle of her glass door.

"I will hop down there, if you don't respond." The voice teases.

She almost swings around to make sure  _he does not_. The difference between balconies in the complex isn't impossible to scale, and she has considered it before, but one wrong move would cause considerable injury.

Though she can't help imagining him easily landing before her on the balcony, confident and easy as his singing, with probably dark hair and gleaming grey eyes shining at her. She has no idea what he looks like, of course, but a young Darcy-like character is never a bad base model for dreamy mystery men.

She has to grip the door handle tighter to shake the fantasy. What is she kidding, even if he was as amazing as she dreams him to be, she would ruin it somehow. It's just her track record.

She closes the door.

When she wakes up a bit groggy the next morning, Alya, her best friend, calls her for a morning drink before heading to work.

Alya is the ultimate foodie. She finds new restaurants and cafes daily and drags Marinette along for the experience. Though that experience is summed up to ruining the perception of home cooked meals and draining most of her account on local chefs. Which as an artist herself, doesn't feel too bad, but is bad on her lifestyle.

They're sitting at a worn wood table, which is surprisingly sturdy when Marinette leans her elbows on the surface, in a nicely sized cafe.

"How was your business trip?" Alya asks over her Caramel Dolce Cappuccino. It had a beautiful foam flower on top until it was smeared to Alya's upper lip.

"Relaxing," Marinette sighs. She takes a sip of her mocha and hums before Alya is gesturing to have a taste. "Who knew going overseas to look at fabric would be so invigorating?"

"You're probably just sick of us and finally realizing it, admit it." She smiles, before grimacing at the mocha and back at Marinette. She shrugs innocently, as if she couldn't forsee Alya hating her extra sweet drink.

"Maybe the first two days," Marinette jokes. "But a week is a long time. It was so easy just talking to people and pointing at things, I barely knew how to get out of bed this morning."

Marinette instantly regrets mentioning a bed when Alya's eyebrows raise behind her drink. The cogs are turning and there's no going back. "And how is your bed? Will you be upgrading to a king anytime soon?"

"No, Alya." Marinette groans. She hunches in her chair and busies her mouth to finishing her wonderfully sweet mocha.

She raises her shoulders and smirks, "I'm just saying, the last time we talked you kept singing the same three love ballads before bursting into tears over a plate of croissants because— what, you smelled fresh pastries on the streets when he sang?"

Marinette doesn't respond, the smooth white mug a sturdy anchor in her palms. She focuses on the hot liquid passing her lips and running a stream down her tongue. Its still cold outside and the walk to her job is a good twenty five minutes so it doesn't hurt to bask in the warmth while it lasts.

"Marinette," Alya laughs and touches her hand, "You're head over heels for this guy. Why are you hesitating?"

Alya was there for her last three relationships, but Marinette could never really explain why they ended so quickly. So when she fell for a new guy in a way that was unconventional, it was obvious why the others failed and she wanted to cling to this emotion while she can.

"It's been over a month and a half and I don't even know his name. I have this perfect vision in my head and if I meet him, I'm sure my heart would be broken in an instant."

Alya places her cup on the table and stares with pitying eyes, which she is doing more to mock her than actual sincerity. Its the new gleam in her eye and the casual lean in her seat that actual puts Marinette on edge, "What  _do_  you call him, though?"

"What do you mean?" Marinette replies.

"Even though you don't know his 'name', our male siren must have a moniker? How else do you scream for him at ni—"

"Alya!" Marinette almost screeches as she reaches across the table and squishes her face to stop talking. Its when she looks around that the action of touching Alya's face is more attention getting than their conversation. She thumps back into her chair with a warm face and a disbelieving jaw.

"We're grown women and, as your best friend, beyond any form of crudeness."

Marinette wisely stays silent and pretends to savor the last sips of her drink before mumbling, "Chat Noir."

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

"Chat. Noir," She enunciates. "I didn't come up with it. He did."

"You're serious? He told you to call him that?"

"He came out of his apartment and announced himself, like a mini concert hall. 'Welcome to the stage, Chat Noir!'," She smiles. "I'm not sure he knows I heard him. It was a while ago." Marinette shrugs.

The worst of it is what she didn't say. That she had an actual moniker for the original moniker. She recalls last night falling asleep to a seeping wet warmth on her fingers and gasping pants of 'kitty'. She practically crushes the straw between her fingers as she moves the last drops of whipping cream in circles.

Luckily, Alya decides to relent after the admission. Though since she is a journalist, Marinette should have been suspicious of her silence. A name is a powerful one, even if it is fake. She could track down a man after finding pocket lint on the ground.

They forsake talking about love before its time to go to work and by then Marinette is itching to cut up some muslin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I added a lot of adverbs and I'm not sorry. I re-read my favorite Beauty & the Beast retelling by K.M. Shea, who has a very simplistic style with many 'ly' adverbs and too many similes but I love it so I emulated her a bit.
> 
> Storywise, I'm a pouty baby who isn't happy. My marinette isn't clicking for me, which is a bit frustrating, but again JOURNEY JOURNEY JOURNEY. I'm learning more when I say 'leave it alone and go forth' instead of 'stew this over for several months then toss it when you're frustrated'.
> 
> I always write to improve, so comments and critiques are welcome! Please rip this to bits! Thank you!

Marinette staggers through the revolving doors of her apartment building around eight PM. The stale winter air of the streets melting away into a warm citrus. She grunts from relief but straightens out when she makes eye contact with the doormen, Barry and Bruce.

Barry is a baby face of innocence, kind and memorizes everyones birthday, while Bruce sits in the shadows and enforces the rules of the building with inhuman efficiency. She's known them for her year as a tenant and likes to talk with them when she has the time.

Marinette sways by the elevator and pushes the button to get to her floor, then her stomach rumbles. She considers if she has any food in her home, then quickly curses Alya with the obvious answer.

"Hey Bruce, I might end up buying out." Marinette forces out before mumbling under her breath. "Again."

"Why not ask any of us to go shopping for you? We won't mind." Barry is the one to reply. His sweet blue eyes shining in sympathy. A seventeen year old is giving Marinette pity. That feels great.

"I don't want you to treat me differently. You don't do it for other tenants, so you shouldn't do it for me. Besides its just a phase." Marinette assures.

"It's been six months." Bruce mutters, leafing through a newspaper at the front desk.

Marinette's jaw tenses and she smiles sardonically. "You have a true knack for comfort, Bruce."

"No problem." He responds neutrally. Marinette sends a glare his way until the ding of the elevator prompts her to turn.

She hops inside the elevator, her sling bag bouncing on her hip, and jams in her floor number. Before the door closes, a hand reaches out and yanks at it.

"Sorry! Don't want to wait. In a rush." A male voice blurts out. Its a nice voice, like a warm breeze on an ice lake.

"Oh, no problem. The doormen can usually get it though. Elevators aren't friendly on the hands." Marinette blurts whatever comes to mind. Random pleasantries.

The male looks up and she first notices his shining blond hair. She means S _hining_ -like his hair went under intensive military training to look perfectly flowing and touchable. She almost feels offended.

"I don't mind lending a hand if it gets a beautiful girl's attention." The man responds without a beat.

Marinette unexpectedly snickers. "That's sweet, if not extreme. I'll say no more."

The man chuckles in return and stares in her direction for, perhaps, a few seconds too long. She knows she is not imagining it because she is not a nervous person by nature. Well, not anymore. She is surrounded by beautiful models and professionals that work long and bizarre hours that tend to result in snappy and strong personalities. She isn't phased by strangers on a regular basis.

Marinette tilts her head to glance at the male. He is unapologetically staring back, large green eyes dancing like he wants to ask a question. Marinette raises her eyebrows ready to tell him off for making her uncomfortable in a small space, but the door dings so she just nods and walks to her apartment.

When she hears the elevator doors close behind her, she breathes more easily, the weight of her feet smooshing into the carpet hallway. She dangles her keys out of her sling bag before unlocking her door and kicking off her worn flats.

Her kitchen is to the left, beyond the entryway, so she's peeling off her winter clothes when her cell rings.

"Hey girl! Guess who finally hunted down the best Thai restaurant in Paris," Alya starts. A smack of lips and a click of chopsticks follow her words. "The greatest unoffical-foodie journalist. That's who." Her mouth is so full of food every syllable is rounded by garble of 'rawrs'.

"How do you run that foodie blog with your job again? I barely have time to cook meals at home with my one job." Marinette asks. She walks to her fridge and cabinets to double check if she can make a meal out of crackers and ketchup or something. It's better then broadcasting her failure of a home life to her doormen.

"Well, I'm not mooning over a black cat siren. That's probably where all your time is going."

"Alya!" Marinette shuts her cabinet a bit too hard and gestures at it in apology. "It's not like I'm on my balcony for hours each night waiting for him. That would be weird."

"No, you have a telepathic love communication for when you both emerge from your normal lives to elope on the patios. Oh my god, what if he's married? What if he has a girlfriend? What if he's a serenading serial killer?" Alya's voice escalates on each possibility. Marinette chokes on the first one—not that she hadn't considered it.

"Well...even if he is, its none of my business. It's not like he's singing  _for_  me."

"He already owns your heart. Thats a form of crime, isn't it?"

"Shut up, Alya." Marinette breathes through a smile.

"Well if you ever find out he's a villain, make sure I get the first interview." Alya jokes. "So you have dinner for tonight?"

Marinette is crouched in front of her fridge, cold air wrapping around her face and eye to eye with a jar of mustard. "Doesn't seem like it." She admits.

"I'll order some takeout for you, cause they make their Pad Thai Shrimp with illegal substances and you have to try them before they're exiled."

Marinette sighs and smiles at her phone. "You're the best. But also the worst."

"I know you secretly love it. Food will be there within the hour. I'll see you tomorrow."

Marinette stands from her crouch and looks at the ceiling. She wonders if Chat Noir knows how to cook. Maybe he cooks for a special girl every night and sings her to sleep when her back is tired from work and reassures her when the doormen mock her time management.

Marinette sighs and shuffles to her room for a unnecessarily hot shower.

When she emerges, dressed and dry, she opens the balcony door, cold air caressing her clothes, and settles on the couch so she can hear the beginning of plucked strings and the phone for food to arrive.

Food is up by nine fifty. She parks against the railing with her thick knit shawl and munches on shrimp Pad Thai. The Paris lights are flickering and sending messages of cheer and love. The people below are laughing and yelling, there is a shrill of joy next door, and the sound of a helicopter passes by.

There is no player the rest of the night.

Marinette's entire head is lopsided. Her tongue is sandy and it feels like she is squinting at everything, like she isn't sure if anything is real. Then again, the lopsided head could be due to her crooked bun of hair that probably weighs half a pound. Her sandy tongue is from a bad cup of coffee since she was too impatient to boil the water right. The squinting is clearly from viewing the too cheerful faces of the people of Paris on her way to work.

"Hey Mari! Ooooh, you have a bedside look today. Sexy night?" Tikki, one of her seamstresses, asks when Marinette walks through the door.

"Oh yeah, I seduced some shrimp dunked in a really delicious asian sauce. But it got too hot and heavy and I fell asleep right after."

"Your nights are quite odd."

"If I'm too obvious, it'll be boring."

"Well, we're nearing completion of the dancers' outfits. They are so gorgeous. Your designs are a gift to this earth."

"And your compliments are like shots of espresso." Marinette sends a tired smile and leans over to kiss the top of Tikki's head. She giggles in return and shoos her off.

Marinette is able to shake off her morning funk throughout the day, vehemently denying any of it on last night's no show, and goes to work. Penny Rolling, the assistant to her client Jagged Stone, compliments her work for a concert project and this boosts her mood another notch.

At the end of the day, her boss, Master Fu, calls her into his office. Her good mood must be obvious because he looks relieved. She wonders if she looked stressed yesterday after just returning from the trip. She frowns at the thought.

"Would you mind assisting Gabriel next week with some photoshoots?" He asks.

"What could I do?"

"He tells me his designer for this line is out of the country and he would like someone reliable to help photographers really show off the product. It seems he really respects your input." His eyes shine at the compliment and Marinette suppresses the urge to jump up and down.

"I'm flattered. And I'll do it." She beams.

"He also mentioned his son is one of the models. He hasn't done the job in a while so Gabriel hopes you can guide him if his heart isn't in it." Master Fu adds.

Marinette easily agrees and bounces out of her bosses office. Gabriel Agreste, the biggest name in the fashion scene, asked for her name. Its like she was dipped in radioactive fluid and gained superpowers. She could take on fifty more designs this week. Maybe a hundred with a big enough sewing army. Marinette is so excited she makes a promise to get her act together.

She's going shopping. She decides a menu on the fly: chicken fried rice, dumplings, and chocolate mousse. Yes, she can do this. She's going to have a fantastic night. Chat Noir is not going to pass her mind. In fact, he didn't show up yesterday, she's not showing up today. Who needs him, right?

She will make dinner, dessert, and crash after destroying some kids on Ultimate Mecha Strike V. A perfect Friday night.

Her trip doesn't take long, luckily she leaves one grocery backpack at work to carry on the way home. The doorman, she's pretty sure his name is Plagg, takes half her bags and they wait at the elevator.

There's a shout from the revolving doors, "Plagg! Thank god. I don't think you got—"

"Adr—ah, Mr. Agreste." Plagg jittered the bags. "Whatever it is you need, I'm sure it can wait."

"Agreste?" Marinette perks and turns.

When Marinette looks directly at the male, she realizes its the super blond from yesterday. He's still staring at her with those sparkling green eyes, but his brows are raised like he was just hit with a brick.

His shoulders jerk up and a pink shade dots his cheeks, a guilty sign she caught him ogling. "A-Adrien Agreste, at your service."

A spark flares in her mind from the name. "Adrien… you're that model from middle school! Well, that was popular when I was in middle school. Gabriel's son. The girls had posters and screen savers of you everywhere," Marinette laughs. "No wonder your hair is perfect,"

Adrien responds with a surprised smile and crinkled eyes, which causes Marinette to reconsider her sentence.

"Which is a compliment to your profession, nothing personal. Not that it shouldn't be a compliment, but it shouldn't be taken too personally, like flirting or…something." She flounders and darts her eyes to the walls.

"Thank you," He responds sincerely. "I won't brag about it being effortless, women don't tend to like that."

Marinette feels that messy weight of hair on her head and sends a small smile. "Not usually, no. Smart guy."

"I try," The sharp ding of the elevator breaks their conversation and Plagg rushes ahead and accidentally clips Marinette's bundle.

The exercise of walking a few blocks with paper bags bags, along with her sling and extra backpack, apparently made her relationship with gravity a thin one. She teeters forward and her flats twist awkwardly until her face is about to meet with carpet.

A sharp tug around her waist stops the momentum and she breathes a sigh.

"That could have ended badly. Are you okay?" Adrien asks at the side of her head.

"Just a long day I think. Thank you for having fast reflexes." She gratefully responds. A weight is taken from her hands and she looks to the side and Adrien is carrying the rest of her bags.

"You don't have to—"

"I want to. It's my pleasure." He sends a winning smile and Marinette's brain can't keep up. Then again she's not usually in the situation of random kindness. She's just overthinking.

She mumbles her gratitude as they board the elevator, the silence doesn't last long.

"What was your name, again? I think I missed it." Adrien asks. Marinette doesn't think she ever told him.

"Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng." She responds. She looks towards Plagg, smooshed to the side of the escalator and looking despairingly at Adrien. She wonders if they're close.

"Marinette," Adrien says it like a taste of fine wine. It sends a shiver down her arm— or the blood is finally flowing back after losing the bags. "It sounds familiar. Are you a model?"

Marinette is tempted to laugh in his face but he says it with bald faced sincerity that she raises her brow instead. Plagg is rolling his eyes. "I'm a designer. I know your father, actually."

Adrien's sparkling eyes are on her again. She's still not used to it and turn to the numbers on the elevator. It dings and the doors open, but since he has her bags she can't escape this time.

"I remember now! My father loves your work. He wishes he snatched you up when he had the chance." Adrien points out.

They walk the short distance to her door and she unlocks it before gesturing for her bags. "I'm only good because of where I work now, though if he wanted to hire me I could never say no to Gabriel Agreste,"

When she looks at him again, Adrien is studying Marinette's door with excited interest— like he suspects buried treasure beyond the walls. The only noteworthy thing on her door is the gold number plate and you can't see much in her entryway. Again, she is reminded on how confusing this man is.

"Right," She drags out. "I'll see you around?" Marinette addresses him while Plagg drops off her bags. Plagg tugs Adrien's shoulder which jostles him out of his reverie. He looks confused at Plagg before his face clears, like a memory hitting him, and he begins walking away.

"Yes, I don't want to delay you. Until next time!" Adrien beams at her before leaning into an intense conversation with Plagg. Yes, Marinette did not understand him.

The rest of the night, she makes a fabulous dinner, destroys a good dozen kids online, and doesn't open her balcony door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is nutty! The fact I'm pushing through this story is nutty, because I finally, finally know what I need to fix-which is fantastic for future stories and plotting- but I'm kinda stunted on how to fix it here. Which is fine!
> 
> This story is literally like the interval training before signing up for a mud run. My other stories being the mud run...metaphors...
> 
> I always write to improve, so comments and critiques are welcome! Please rip this to bits! Thank you!

The next morning, Mari skips through the whooshing rotating doors of her apartment after an invigorating run, well more of a huffing jog, through the icy streets of Paris. The change in temperature walking indoors is warmer than expected, causing her to hop in place and fan her face for a moment. Her lungs burn from gulping frigid air but the rush of endorphins makes her body feel light which lifts all her worries.

Waking up this morning without the guilty pleasure of pining after Chat Noir or heavy take-out sloshing in her stomach, was an interesting change. A very healthy change, she ruefully admitted. She considered if she should take this opportunity to give up on Chat, after all. A parading cloud of sadness ran through her chest before she went father than that thought.

When she looks towards the front desk, she is met with the wide smile of Manon, one of the few doorwomen, who throws up her arms the moment their eyes meet.

"Mari! I'm so glad I caught you. I've got the dish of the week. Possibly the year," She rushes out, gesticulating in wide circles which never fails to pull the edges of Marinette's mouth to a grin.

Manon is the central hub of gossip in the luxury apartment complex. Not only is she capable of doing a physically harrowing job—Marinette recalls catching her carrying two queen sized mattresses, stacked together on her back, to the second highest floor - she can catch dirt on any tenant. Not a single person in the building would deny her in fear of blackmail.

"I could start with the smaller events, but this is too exciting," Manon says and leans towards Marinette so their heads are half a foot apart. "Hal finally stopped hovering around the doors during Barry's shift and asked him out."

"What! When?" Marinette exclaims, before realizing more people are coming down the lobby and tries to lower her voice. "He didn't say anything!"

"Just last Friday. Bruce was on shift and told Hal if he didn't come in, he would call the police. Poor Hal, couldn't take ol' Brucey's glares. Barry noticed him, Hal pulled some bull about being in the neighborhood, and yada yada they're going out!" Manon sighs. "Those sweet, naive teddybears."

"Barry is the sweetest guy. I couldn't be happier."

"Oh, but my dear Marinette. I haven't revealed the biggest news." Manon dips her head, her smile morphing into a mischievous smirk.

Marinette dips her head as well, their breathes mingling in the small space, and whispers, "I'm listening."

"Do you know the guy who sings on the balcony at night?"

Marinette's body instantly locks like a mouse spotted by a king cobra.

"N-no, no way. I have no clue who he is. His voice is nice and all but, I mean, I don't even have time to investigate. Not that I would want to, I could get you to do it. Not that I would make you do it, I'm hardly interested—" Marinette rambles.

"Okay, shush, I get it," Manon waves her off. "You're a fan. Most of the tenants listen to him like some ritualistic radio jam, anyway, but the really important bit is do you know about the girl that sings with him?" Manon asks.

"There's a girl? Whaaat? I have never heard of a girl before. I mean, I never heard a girl singing before. I mean—-"

"Yeah, I know what you mean. So, apparently, they don't know each other," Manon slaps the desks and gawks at the idea. "This whole time! Some tenants are saying they've been singing together for almost two months."

"What? How do you know that?"

"Here's the juicy bit," Manon ignores her, too excited in her tale. "Last week the girl went missing. Not kidnapped, but she didn't show up when the guy was there and the guy  _flipped_. He asked Plagg to find out who she was and since Plagg is useless, he asked me and I rarely work the night shift so my information was sparse. The guy was depressed for the week, isn't that precious?"

Marinette isn't sure if describing depression as precious is a socially correct attitude, but she gawks in complete incomprehension. He's looking for her? Why? What does it matter? They don't have any real obligation or relationship, plus he didn't deign to show up one night. She looks at Manon with a dubious expression.

"I know this sounds straight out of Hollywood, but it's true! But here is the best bit. She showed up three nights ago and the guy phoned Plagg to go outside and look at the balcony to scope her out. Plagg called up right after and said he was one thousand percent sure on the door number. The man said, and I quote, 'I refuse to miss the chance to ask out the girl with the most angelic voice I've ever heard.' Isn't this adorable?" Manon continues.

The sound of pounding and blood rushing to her head forbids her from responding. She doesn't know if she nodded, smiled, or downright danced in the middle of the hall but the next moment she was backing away towards the elevator.

"Mari? Where are you going?" Manon asks.

"You know what, I just got—-inspired! Yeah, from the romcom—or uh story. Gotta draw a couples gown or something, before I forget. Thanks a lot, Manon!" Marinette presses the elevator button several times before clapping her hands flat in front of her face to hide her glee. With luck, the elevator dings a moment later and she jumps inside with the widest and most plastered smile she has ever worn on her face.

When she gets to her level, she barely hops out before she's crashing into a sturdy body. The force makes her bounce, but the grip on her arm keeps her level.

She looks up to a grim mouth and confused green eyes. "Oh- Adrien! Hi. Sorry about that." Marinette smiles at him and pats at his chest.

His blinks down at her before his face morphs, like he was waking from a deep dream, and his familiar sparkling eyes and crooked grin emerges.

"Don't worry about it. Went for a run?" His eyes gesture across her body and she mentally preens.

"I did. It was great. More than great," She grins. She realizes her hand is still on his chest and she pats it a few more times. "Is your chest made of concrete? Its pretty impeccable."

He releases a breathy laugh, the vibration hitting her finger tips, and grabs her hand from his chest. "Was that a professional compliment or flirting? Or something?" He teases.

"Don't let it go to your head," She releases her hand from his grasp and flicks at his nose playfully. Her behavior could be construed as a bit flirtatious but she can't help being less conscious of her actions. After all, Chat Noir finds her  _angelic_. How can she care about anything else with that information?

She dances around Adrien, paying no mind to his amused expression, and enters her room, wondering when her prince would come.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: HolyHera, the rest of this story is on the fly. Hot off the presses and a bumbling struggle of plot that is both a giddy torture and actual torture. I love you all for saying you like it but, let me tell you, I have no idea how lol
> 
> I always write to improve, so comments and critiques are welcome! Please rip this to bits! Thank you!

"Why don't you have a boyfriend, Marinette?" Manon asks the next morning. They're talking again over the front desk after Marinette took her second run for the weekend. She didn't struggle as much today, but there were definitely glances when she would sprint like a demonic horseman was on her tail.

Marinette flinches at the question. "I'm just bad with guys, I guess."

Manon stops shuffling papers to give a lofty raise of her eyebrows. "You're joking, right?"

"I am," Marinette defends. When Manon resolutely maintains her expression, blinking sarcastically —which is possible because Alya does the same thing— Marinette rolls her eyes and leans forward on her forearms. "All my exes sort of…changed. One week they're sweet then the next they're demanding and possessive. A complete one-eighty. What was once Lancelot is now Frankenstein's monster. And I'm Frankenstein." Marinette tries to joke, but the short breathless chuckle reveals the sore spot.

Manon's head barely tilts in consideration before it darkens to complete revulsion, looking towards the front doors.

"Ugh, it's Legally Blonde." Manon grumbles as Chloe Borgeouis saunters into the building, a perky bounce coming off her five inch heels.

"Don't insult Elle Woods," Marinette whispers. "She's a hero."

"Chloe's father distorts the laws of this city whenever the fair maiden batters her fake lashes and she's a walking bimbo. Legally a-Bimbo doesn't ring as nicely."

Chloe is waiting at the elevator, checking her nails and pretending they don't exist, as if an infection is gained from simple common curtesy. Marinette doesn't mind, being neighbors with the girl is as much contact she can bear.

Speaking adversely about someone behind their back or relishing in peoples' faults is not a pastime Marinette enjoys, but boy did Chloe have it coming. In the year Marinette lived in the apartments, there is not a single act of kindness she can recall Chloe did towards her or anyone else.

She treats the doormen like reared servants rather than fellow adults making a living. She never greets anyone in return if she doesn't think them worthy of picking gum from her shoe. Then there was the open resentment she seemed to show Marinette of all people.

Marinette doesn't know if it's a neighborly curtesy, but Chloe always has some sort of snide comment for her. Usually it's about her fashion sense, the irony of that, though sometimes she gets a special comments on her gene pool, as well. Marinette wonders how it's possible to be raised with such aristocratic values when public schools so cheerfully teach the French Revolution.

Chloe's phone peals some tinkling pop song and she quickly flicks it out of her leather purse, the shine of her manicure bouncing off the metal device.

"Finally, you call me back! Did you read my text?"

The arrogant shrill tone leaves Marinette cringing and Manon gagging. Manon begins to mimic the reply of the person on the other line, her lips exaggerating a pout when she speaks and her wrists freely flicking in dramatic waves. Marinette covers her mouth with a closed fist.

"It was only a matter of time. He said he fell for me the moment he heard my voice— imagine when he saw my face! He didn't stand a chance!"

Marinette begins acting the role of Chloe and makes a duck face, with a long neck, and fluttering eye lashes. Manon does a silent clap for her performance.

"I know; Adrien Agreste! I can't believe I didn't know he was in the building sooner. But, no surprise, he couldn't resist looking for me first."

Manon pauses in her antics and looks wide eyed in Chloe's direction. She flickers her gaze at Marinette like she should understand the dire words that came out of Chloe's mouth. Chloe finally enters the elevator so the rest of the conversation is muted out and Manon looks ready tear her hair out.

"SHE'S going out with Adrien? Are you shitting me?"

"Is that really so shocking?"

"Have you met Adrien? He may be a model, but he does not deserve that bimbo."

"I mean, I sort of met him, for a second."

"It only takes a glance of his puppy green eyes and you know he's more than decent over Chloe."

Marinette feels an uncoiling in her chest at the realization she isn't the only one to notice his eyes. It must be a personal quirk that he holds people's gazes so intently. "I dunno, blondes attract? If we're lucky, his kindness will rub off on her. This should be a celebration."

"In our dreams." Manon looks rather put out. Marinette tilts her head and smirks.

"Do you have a thing for him?"

"Woah! Woah, I'm going to pretend you didn't just imagine Agreste committing adultery against a minor. Plus I already have someone I like, and they are nothing like Adrien."

"You never told me that." Marinette blinks from shock. Actually, it is in that moment Marinette realizes she knows nothing about Manon's life outside her job.

"All gossip in the building is from the building. I can't divulge all my secrets," Manon straightens up from leaning on the front desk and pats down imaginary lint. "There  _is_  a reason Adrien should not be with Chloe, but I'm not suppose to tell you, on the off chance something has gone wrong. And that doesn't have to make sense." She punctuates.

Marinette reclines off the desk and raises her hands in surrender, "All right all right," she chuckles. "My curiosity is vanquished. I like my bathtub jello free, thank you very much." Marinette references an old prank Manon placed one a particularly obnoxious tenant the week he was leaving and that pulls a small smile.

"I also make fantastic gruel, if you ever find the appetite."

Marinette half-fakes a gag and shakes her head, walking towards the elevators and deciding she would prefer a shower today.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: SIGH. Can I assert again how that there is no plan or plot? I am riding the coattails of inspiration and learning for future reference. I hope to have a fantastic outlining process for future fics, it’s a very very exciting thing I tell you, but this one is pure cause and effect.
> 
> Either way, I hope you find one of these scenes cute, cause I kinda did. Not sure about the humor, I only laughed at one line and I bet you won’t know which one it was.
> 
> I always write to improve, so comments and critiques are welcome! Please rip this to bits! Thank you!

After speaking to Manon, Marinette rides the elevator up to her floor, the muffled whirring of the cables and pulleys the only noise, and takes the moment to heave a sigh. 

The entirety of yesterday was spent pretending to be a lady in waiting, none too different from a princess locked in a high tower and imagining her faceless knight whisking her from her troubles. It’s the sort of behavior befit of a teenager rather than an experienced adult who knows the difference between fickle romantic notions and serious pursuits of a relationship.

Her face scrunches when she can’t help but acknowledge her ease at the notion. She rather try the overly romantic perfection in her head, even if it’s fickle, rather than a partner she _thought_ she knew pretending to be serious about her then changing face when they got what they wanted. 

But why is Chat Noir taking so long? Had a dragon vanquished him along the route? Did he realize the effort wasn’t worth it? She’s beginning to regret missing the opportunity to grill Manon for more information.

According to her, he called Plagg on Wednesday. It’s already Sunday, and nothing is different in Marinette’s life, besides him missing each night. She wonders how long she would be willing to put her life on hold just from the concept of a male knocking on her door. Her upper lip pulls to a grimace when the answer becomes obvious. 

The elevator doors chime and she ambles down the floor, doubt in her predicament slowing her pace. The journey to her door, however, is fraught with an obstacle. 

Chloe Bourgeois, in all her feminine wiles, is literally hanging on the shoulders of Adrien Agreste, who looks ready to jump out a window if the option is presented to him. His arms are hovering in a ‘v’ at his sides, as if touching Chloe is an invitation to the nether realmhe is not ready accept. 

The biggest issue with this scene is not witnessing a poor man struggling with the attentions of Marinette’s not so precious neighbor, but that he catches sight of her before she can enter her home. She shuffled to the door with as much speed and silence as is her practice when working around hungover co-workers or when she use to sneak sweets to her room from her parent’s bakery— but she must be out of practice. 

She struggles to deny him eye-contact, ignoring anything involving Chloe guarantee’s a ninety-nine percent better day, but the growing shadow of his stare implores her to look back and Marinette views something she thought to see from him: frustration, panic, and irritation. 

“Adrikins, lets go out today. I want to show you off to my friends,” Chloe cooed. 

When Marinette’s keys jangle toward the lock, Adrien’s brow furrow to a definitive pleading curve. They aren’t exactly friends, so she would gladly send a ‘sorry for you condolences’ smile and walk away. As far as she understands, he dug this grave and he will be the sacrificial savior of keeping Chloe out of everyones hair and maybe reforming her to being… well, ‘decent’ is a nice start. 

She tries to convey her gratitude for such an offering with her solemn smile, but apparently Adrien decides fate and takes a bold step towards her and grips her arm. 

Is he _mad_?

“I’m really sorry Chloe, but I have plans with Marinette today.” 

He wrestles out of Chloe’s dead fish grip, a tad impressive when you consider her self-importance is equal the density of Jupiter, and swivels behind Marinette like a human shield. Coward. His grip on her arm transfers to her shoulders and he’s patting them, a clear indication to open the door— which she is loathe to do, because she certainly didn’t volunteer.

Chloe scoffs in her direction, taking in her run attire and the many frays dancing around her face. “Her? You might as well visit a graveyard. It’s just as cheerful and nice to look at,”

Marinette puckers her lips, restraining from stooping to her level. It doesn’t do her good saying anything to Chloe, it’s a waste of time and a sap of energy. 

“Plus she’s like the dollar menu of designers. Only the homeless would consider wearing them.”

This is the first time Chloe has acknowledged Marinette as a designer at all. She should take it as a compliment. Also, with the money Chloe makes, she wasn’t aware she knew a dollar menu exists. Bravo. 

“And don’t get me started on that fake journalist friend that hangs around here. She’s so desperate to keep her job she writes the biggest lies in the city.” 

Marinette stiffens, Adrien’s grip tightening on her shoulders in reaction. She should let it go, this woman lives to rile people up over nothing, but all she can envision is tearing the fake lashes and tacky top from Chloe’s overly plastic exterior. Then Adrien, the bold bastard probably sensing her intention, takes the keys from her right hand and jams them into her lock. The door swings open and he practically shoves her beyond the arch before slamming the door.

Marinette turns around, expecting him behind her and telling him off when she all she can witness of him is his stern voice on the other side. She leans to flatten her ear against the door, curious of the rapid altercation, and kind of itching for a piece of the acton. 

Chloe is the easiest to decipher as her shrill voice could cut through vibranium. 

“Good riddance. I knew you’d rather spend time with me. Now, what do you say we go inside and—”

His response comes in strings through the door, speaking in low tones, but she can tell his voice is steely in a way that sends chills to her heart. Its cold and unforgiving, a sort of tone that leaves no room for argument and means you have crossed him in the worst possible way. “Stop——say I have plans—take it too far——I was wrong—“ 

Marinette wishes she could witness Chloe being told off, she imagines it being equal to the people storming the Bastille, but she thinks she understands without hearing all of Adrien’s words what he’s doing and her chest unfurls and expands with warmth. 

A click at the turn of the knob makes Marinette jump back from the door as it swings open, belatedly realizing she probably should have locked it to avoid any more dramatics. Adrien swings inside, leaning against the door to slam it shut behind him. His entire body is tight and high strung, though his head is dipping towards the ground as if he survived a marathon. 

She stares at what the entryway lighting does to his hair color and for once it looks less like burning rays from the greek gods, and more like a pale honey, a sweet and pleasant color. 

When he finally deigns to lift his head, his brows are already furrowed in apology. “I know you can handle her yourself and that you prefer I didn’t interfere but, it was my fault she said anything in the first place and what she said wasn’t fair and-“

He’s _rambling_. She thought him odd since the first moment she met him, but it was always on a different plane of existence. A sort of aristocratic strangeness to him, as if he were bred so perfect he was naturally bound to have strange quirks. However, here he is, nervously attempting to apologize in a language Marinette knows too well—pure ridiculous rambling. 

She’s carefully stepping towards him and trying so hard not to laugh, but it’s so endearing that he just defended her, and also her closest friend who has never met, against Chloe— his supposed girlfriend. She can’t help but find it kind of sweet. 

She’s mere inches from his space when he stops talking. His face is red and the scent of honey and peaches wraps around him. She places her hand on his chest, pats it amicably, and pecks the side of his face, the overflow of gratefulness filling her to the brim. 

“Thanks,” She says simply.  

His lips clamp together and his face reaches a brighter red before nodding wordlessly and commences his natural state of staring at her too intensely, which she is slowly finding familiar. His breath hits between her eyes in a way that feels intimate, their distance blaring louder into her mind when he seems to come closer. 

She takes a casual stride backwards to cut the atmosphere. “I-um, yeah, but don’t do it again. As you said, I can take care of myself.”

He’s blinking at her, the translucent haze in his eyes slowly changing back to a clear color, before he has the sense to respond. “With a thanks like that, it’s hard to not want to find every opportunity,” He says. Her pinched glare sends him back tracking. “But, if that’s what you want. Of course.”

Marinette awkwardly looks around her entry way. “Well, if that’s all, I guess I’ll see you another time?”

“Oh, no, princess. I said we had plans, and even if I gave her a talking down, she will hunt me down if I’m left alone.”

“That’s really none of my business.” Again Marinette is reminded of his strange predicament and has to ask, “Didn’t you say you fell for her the moment you heard her speak? And now you’re trying to escape?” 

“Umm,” Adrien’s eyes are darting beyond her like a child eager to enter a candy store. Which makes her aware that, though technically the son of her favorite designer, a strange man is in her house through forced entry. “I did, but I don’t think I meant it.”

She clears her throat when he takes a few steps forward and tries to look beyond to her living room. His eyes focus on her, feigning innocence, but his tiny smile at her irritated pinched expression seems to grow.

“‘You don’t think’? Have you never talked to a woman before?” Being honest is literally the number one rule of a decent relationship and he broke it on the first line. “Either way, you dug this hole yourself. I am no accomplice. She hates me enough as it is, which isn’t much consequence, but I’ve never looked like a home wrecker to her before.” 

“Look, I really am sorry. If you let me stay here for just a while, I’ll make it up to you. Please.” Adrien’s hands slap together like a prayer and he does _the look_. The same look she’s seen on many models before, she swears its a trade secret only to be used under the utmost emergencies. Their dark pupils expand like globes and they tilt their head that looks both submissive but not pitiful. Their mouths pucker in the slightest pout and she swears for .05 seconds their eyelashes even grow—its a superpower. 

If any other model threw that look she could resist it, but her heart was already softened by his empathy so she grumbles, “Don’t touch anything.” Then she turns on her heel towards her bedroom.

She can practically hear his gloating preen. 

She takes an inhumanly fast shower, because showering is always a comfort when a stranger freely lurks in your home. Her hair is barely toweled through in strands, falling to the middle of her back and soaking droplets onto her sizable thigh length sweater. 

She tip toes beyond her door to the living room, hoping he left in the time she was gone. The apartment is eerily silent, a strange tension likened to the rising music in a horror film when you know a jump scare is just around the corner. 

When she can’t view him a heavy sigh cascades from her mouth. “Thank goodness.”

“Oh, you’re finally out!” 

The cheerful statement jumps the bones from her very flesh and Marinette clutches around her heart. Adrien appears from the left side of the entertainment system, where his body must have hidden. His expression is much brighter than before her shower, making her wonder if one regains life relative to the distance of a Bourgeois. 

His right hand is holding a game case and Marinette gives him a flat stare. “You’re touching something.”

He looks at his hand, surprised, as if it leapt from its perch and he happened to catch it. “Oh—sorry. I was curious,” Which causes Marinette to squint. “and I haven’t played french video games in a while. It’s a fighter, right?”

Marinette takes long strides to pluck the game out of his hands. She glances at the title, her Ultimate Mecha V game that she’s been playing every night this week, before crouching to put it back. “Yes, it is.”

“Do you play?”

“Sometimes.”

“Would you want to play now?”

“No.” 

There’s a beat of silence. “So, you’re not any good?”

She bristles and stands with her hands on her hips. “Excuse me?”

“Clearly, you don’t think you could beat me. I know my confident looks are rather intimidating, but I’ve really never played. You just don’t want to be embarrassed, I understand.” He is looking around her apartment again, paying no mind that small woman before him is quite efficiently imagining tearing his smug, handsome face through virtual dirt.

“Sit down.”

“Pardon?” He’s looking at her now, a pinched pucker to his lips, as if restraining his expression. 

“Sit, stay quiet, and lose with some dignity.” She asserts before turning on her game console and hooking up a second controller. The opening sequence blares in her tiny space before she’s tossing the controller in his direction and sitting cross legged adjacent to him. 

His expression is more gleeful that she expects and she’s positive she fell into a trap, but she’s going to destroy him anyway. There are minimal things in this world that can rile her up, and Adrien just stepped on a landmine.

“Do I at least get a practice round?” He smirks. 

“It wont make a difference.” She smiles too sweetly in his direction. The bold confidence seems to light something in him. His laid back exterior straightens up, like a metal rod shooting up his spine, and he leans forward towards the screen with greater focus. 

“I’ll take my chances.”

Of course, it makes no difference. Their difference in skill isn’t as big as she assumed, but stomping him was as enjoyable as she expected. 

“Quarter circle plus low kick and then flying hyper strike, triple combo, and whoop! There it is!” After the last blow ends the life of his mech, Marinette jumps out of her seat and laughs victoriously. “You’re a million years too soon, Agreste, because I win, I win.” She sings in his direction while her arms dance in circles. Her voice carries across the apartment, which when she’s alone is quite normal because no one can hear her competitive wails, but she isn’t alone this time.

Not many people find competitiveness a redeeming trait, especially when gloated in their face, so she tries not to play video games with people outside her immediate social circle. Usually when she plays, she gets so involved she’ll spring across the couch like her movements affect the controller and voices over her commands and plans like a reigning general. Alya describes her as the Julius Caesar of video games, ruthless and unafraid, but also because if the online players heard her comments they would also end her life in a similar fashion.

As the silence of the apartment weighs down after her shrilling gloat, Marinette’s embarrassment sets in and she’s loathe to look at Adrien’s reaction. 

When she gathers the courage, he’s not looking at her with any judgement, which isn’t even the biggest surprise. He’s looking at her in awe while glancing at the controller in her hands, like it’s a radioactive super weapon and only Marinette knows the combinations to wield. Then he’s staring at the screen a wild grin on his lips. 

“Again.” 

Marinette’s heart stutters. “Look, I get carried away—“ 

“Again.” He asserts. 

Her eyes flutter a couple thousand times, trying to comprehend his excitement. Honestly he should be appalled with her, but his teasing and cocky grin fires her up again and she thumps back onto the couch, clicking for the rematch. 

The second time is even easier beating him, though Adrien begins yelling, cheering, and hopping around as much as she does, which causes her to laugh heartily when its over and he’s throwing his hands up in indignation and accuses her of witchcraft. The third round begins without a word, and Adrien again becomes even worse at the game but she realizes he keeps glancing at her controller style, which had to be pointed out to her is quite different. 

This happens for at least five more rounds, where he gets progressively worst, which makes her consider he’s losing heart, until he switches tactics. Marinette is in the middle of a low kick, roadhouse combo when Adrien swings his controller and bumps their hands together. It stutters her input and the combo doesn’t go through, dammit. “I want to raise the stakes if I beat you. What do you think?” Adrien asks. 

“I think if you win against me, that should be pride enough.”

“Hmm, if I win I want to…” He draws out his contemplation but his tone is already decided. “…braid your hair.” 

Marinette doesn’t just stutter on her next combo, her brain fries and she hops a foot away from Adrien to stare at him like a loon. He’s looking at the screen with the same seriousness and smiling with a fierce exhilaration. It’s his tone she can’t decipher, whether he’s ‘pulling her hair’, so to speak, or it’s a strange sincere wish. He is able to get two decent combos off of her in that time and she struggles to get serious again and has to jump her character three times to the left to avoid more damage. 

“That sounds nefarious,” She states. 

He chuckles, “It’s not. I’m being sincere. You look,” he takes a breath like the word is too grand or too dismissive to say in a single instance, “nice, as you are, but I think you’ll look even better when I’m done. I have multiple talents, too, you know.” He teases. “What do you say?”

Marinette wants to think of a reason to say no, after all it is ridiculous, but she can’t imagine losing to him. The last time she lost a round of Ultimate Mecha she was still wearing overalls and playing at home with Papa. That was when her papa would tickle her to cheat his way into winning, which she doubts Adrien would stoop to doing.

“Alright. If you lose, same stakes. But you probably won’t be recognizable when you leave.”

“As you wish,” he smiles and the screen reads Adrien with a fifty point lead in health but Marinette isn’t discouraged. Well, she wouldn’t have if Adrien wasn’t a sly, underhanded cheater. 

Apparently, the last few round were ploys because his last combo was unexpected. He baited her into her high flying kick then did a low kick dash to land behind her. Then a simple low punch to kick combo in her back, which does double damage, and it was over. 

“You fox!” She shoves at him and he’s laughing with his head tilted back and adam apple exposed. His shoulders shake the couch beneath them and he’s clutching his sides from breathless shock.

“No, you’re an open book! You do these cute little stresses on your vowels right before you call your next combo. Each one is just slightly different from the next. I was really lucky and really careful to predict that last one.” He’s leaning in her space and grinning like a devious cat, so she covers his smug face with her palm and shoves him away. 

“I’m an open book, huh?” She raises her brows, smiling.

“Elementary, my lady.”

She leans heavily into his space, causing him to bend backwards. “I’m predictable, is that it?” She breathes against his chin. 

His eyes cannot lock on one portion of her face, switching between her eyes, her hair falling around her, and her lips. The tint of pink on his face is unmistakeable.

She drags her hand through a corner of his locks, his eyes flutter and leans towards the gesture, then she takes her hand on the other side before issuing her attack. She ruffles, fluffs, and mangles his hair to all hell—shouting victoriously when he yelps in surprise—and holy shit its perfection. 

His hair runs through her fingers like a cloud was weaved into strands of gold. Even when dealing with models, rarely is she fussing around their heads, since the makeup team would murder her with a bagel, so she cannot recall an immediate comparison. 

She could imagine sleeping in a chamber of this texture. 

She becomes a tad irritated at the revelation, hoping she can ruffle it to look terrible at least. This man can’t have it all, its just not fair. 

When she’s done, she lounges back in her seat in glee, however, on closer inspection his hair doesn’t appear like a misshapen porcupine as she hoped but more like a sex demon rising for the next bout.

_Seriously_? She thinks. 

“That was dirty, princess.” Adrien’s joyful pout reveals itself but the upper half of his face is covered by strands in every direction with one crinkled eye peaking through. 

“It was better than kicking you out,” She raises. 

Even the frays of his hair couldn’t hide the deep set horror of being found by Chloe. She feels vindicated from that fact, at least.

“Touchè.”

They sit in a crisp silence, staring at each other as he fixes the mess of his head, which takes little more than two doggish and a few combing strokes with his fingers. 

Marinette looks down at her hands, grasping each digit in random strokes. “Well, get on with it then.”

“Hm?” Marinette glances back and forth between his face, a picture of relaxed mirth like a kept pet, and her fingers as she tries to uphold his silly deal. Her chest is fluttering from the weird atmosphere, feeling strangely intimate again with him. It seems to come easily, she realizes, and she’s not sure what to do. 

“Chop, chop, hairdresser. I don’t have all day,” she attempts to say in a haughty tone, hoping to have a lighter atmosphere again, and flagrantly flips some locks out of her face. She raises her chin and looks straight ahead, like an empress on her throne. A light responding huff from in his direction calms the pitter patter in her chest. 

“As you wish.”

Unfortunately for Marinette, the next fifteen minutes are somehow even worse than the atmosphere before. Adrien stands behind the couch and bundles her hair away from her face. She remembers to ask if he needs a brush or hair ties but he denies them immediately. At first, it’s a confusing refusal until she thinks he wants to tease her more and create a sort of birds nest on her head.

But the thought leaves her in an instant when the first sweep of his hand runs from the base of her skull down her long strands. The roughness of his long fingers meticulously maneuver parts of her hair in different angles with soft tugs and twists. Each repetition where his hands have to touch the base of her hair feels longer, almost like torture, and his fingers seem to linger in exploratory strokes. 

The soft surprised grunts and occasional sighs leave her without permission, like an attention starved animal, until she realizes thats exactly what it is. Marinette always lets Alya cut her hair when the time comes, since her experience with younger siblings sometimes meant she played rogue hairdresser for styles that the parents didn’t allow. Alya is gentle, which is to be expected, but also clinical and precise. Its ‘tilt your head thing way’, several tugs here and there, and most of the contact is through plastic or brush fibers. 

This sort of contact is much more familiar and sorely missed when introduced again. 

If Adrien does need to tilt her head, he freely touches the base of her neck, his hands slightly cold, and maneuvers her as he wants. Her head is buzzing like his fingers are laced with alcohol and each touch on her neck puts her awareness on hyperdrive. The house is quiet, but it’s not awkward and it’s not oppressive. 

He walks around to face her once, and it’s definitely the worse moment. She attempts to looks towards her lap in serene disinterest but she’s too curious at the sort of expression he could be making. He’s neither a hairdresser, that she knows of, so it’s interesting to know what he’s thinking. Not that she’s had any success deciphering him thus far.  

She glances up once and he’s not even looking at her hair. He’s looking directly at her, which causes her to shiver. His eyes are soft and open, yet half lidded with a fierceness of thought, and his mouth is parted in that natural way a model practices in front of a mirror for days—it extenuates the cheekbones yet invites inquiring stares. It’s indecipherable but its like he’s staring at a two way mirror, and Marinette is the key to reveal a long awaited message or person. 

Catching her eyes, he blinks away the expression and sends a devious leer, like he was the one ensnaring her and she flicks at his chin in retaliation.

He walks around her once again, hair still held aloft, and she hears a definitive click. She could have imagined it if not for the singular pressure on her head that felt like it held together a complicated maze of weaving. 

“All done,” Adrien’s voice is a soft gravel above her head and a soft sweeping of lose strands is felt at the base of her head.

“Th-thanks,” she coughs to clear her stuttering. “Do I dare look?” 

“I dunno,” he purses his lips as he walks around to look at her again. “You might not be able to handle it.”

She grimaces at the imagery of horrible rats’ den of a hair style. “How horrible it is?”

“How beautiful you look,” He says casually, a tilt of his head and a smirk on his lips. 

Marinette twists her mouth, disbelieving, but a warmth rises to her cheeks anyway. She stands from her spot to march to her bathroom mirror but Adrien grabs her arm. 

“I should probably leave, now,” He starts, though his rocking feet make him seem unsure of his words. “I just want to say thanks, again. Chloe is…um—“ He’s looking around the room, trying to find the word and she can relate in an instant. 

“Passionate? Lively? Straightforward?”

He huffs a laugh. “In a positive light, yes.”

She looks at his hand still gripping her arm. A rolling guilt and lump in her throat suddenly gripping her, yet she can’t explain why. “She is your girlfriend, you realize?” She tries to laugh. 

A twist of his lips and his glance at their contact, warm and simple, doesn’t give her a clue to whether he regrets it, though according to Manon would be a hell of a way to dig your grave, or perhaps Chloe was lying and it’s something he wants to refute but cannot. He squeezes her arm lightly before letting go and walking towards the doorway. 

“I’ll see you soon, I hope,” he smiles. “I still owe you one.” He winks and the soft clicks of his shoes walk across her entry way, then follows with the click of her door.

Marinette just stands. She stands and feels the instant loss of Adrien’s presence in her home, like a tight rope cut from the base and she’s the one lying in the net below trying to remember how to walk without it. 

It was weird having him there: the teasing, the irritating, the intrusion, and somehow quite nice. Comfortable. A small smile grows on her lips, realizing she kind of had fun hiding him away, even though they were barely within the realm of friendship.

She tries to flick back a portion of her hair when she catches onto nothing and remembers the possible hideous wreck on her head. She’s snickering and hustles to her bathroom to catch the atrocity. She catches her humored expression and glowing pink cheeks before being flabbergasted at the styling on her hair. 

_How in Hades did he—?_

It’s, to put simply, lovely. It’s one of those princess crown braids that wraps around the head with soft tendrils falling out on the side. It’s better than she could ever attempt. She’s good at symmetrical braids that fall directly from the base of her head, but ask her to create more than a singular part that wraps to fit snugly against her head and she will have lumps and falling frays all over the place. 

She’s twisting her head, trying to figure out the conundrum of such a talent from a male with short hair as Adrien’s and without the use of bobby pins. It’s equivalent to witchcraft as far as she’s concerned.

Then she catches the opaque shine at the very back of her head. She can barely catch it at her angle but its about the size of her palm and looks like red vines, curving in organic patterns, with black gems scattered across. It’s the same spot she felt the heavy support keeping her head at bay. He must have had it on him in his pockets. Though, _why,_ is a blaring question in her mind, she’s too enamored with the final product to reflect on it. She’s loathe to ruin it and almost fears when she’ll have to sleep tonight.

She’s still dazed with a giddy joy when she walks back to the center of her apartment and looks beyond her balcony to realize its still midday. Her balcony. She furrows her brows before she’s grabbing her face in horror.

“Chat Noir,” She says like a sudden revelation. “I completely forgot about Chat and a man was just in my apartment. _Flirting.”_ She runs to her couch to grab a pillow and promptly groans abnormally loud like a revving engine. 

He could have knocked on her door today. She would be forced to answer and he would see Adrien and _assume_. Who would want to assume _against_ that? Marinette would never be ashamed to admit when someone is too attractive to walk the face of the planet, some people are just built to be such, but when it comes to budding romance the first judgement tends to lean superficial. Only an overinflated peacock or a self assured handsome Zeus could be confident enough to think there is nothing between them.

“Which there isn’t,” she vehemently swears. Adrien got it in his strange mind that they were close friends since she complimented him twice, sort of on accident, and she was too delirious on love to comprehend her actions in the hallway yesterday— thus his intrusion in her life today.

Plus he clearly has Chloe, albeit unwillingly but that’s his personal business. And getting between Chloe and a man is not a situation she would sick on anyone. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Everyone that has ever comment and been just fabulous human beings, (Tumblr, A03, or Fanfiction) you all are the only reason I’m finishing this. You. You right there reading. So thank yourselves, you’re doing good work.
> 
> I always write to improve, so comments and critiques are welcome! Please rip this to bits! Thank you!

Waking up and staring at a blemish on her ceiling, Marinette is reminded she has no patience for subterfuge. She asserts this fact all morning as she tugs on her clothes, crumpling the fabric in her grip, and withers frustrated glares out her balcony window; a pair of pigeons stare back, flaunting their easy system of mating on the criteria that their partner has wings and is alive. 

Chat Noir fragrantly proclaimed his intentions almost a week ago; to Plagg, then Manon, and thus essentially the whole building, and he hasn’t followed through in the slightest. Though her identity in the situation is in check, what reasoning can make a person say such a silly thing then disappear?

Do men in her life have a sick enjoyment in rallying her affections then promptly throwing them to the dust? It’s a pattern that’s becoming her best friend and, honestly, she doesn’t want any of it. 

Yet even in her frustrations, her heart still wants to know him. She believes it’s a misunderstanding— soft strings plucking in the night air and gentle male undertones are difficult for her mind, and even her body, to forget. So she’s determined to make everything straight. 

She’s not a princess locked in her tower in the 12th century, she’s a warrior princess of the 21st century, free to do as she will; and if this situation isn’t straight by the weekend, she’s giving up entirely. Even if he kneels at her door, with roses and tears rolling down his cheeks from anguished love, she will direct him to the nearest trash bin. 

Alya calls for their morning meet up, and Marinette almost topples a lamp when she realizes she never told Alya about the entirety of last week. She didn’t think to call Alya at all about the Chat ordeal, or even the dramatics with Chloe and Adrien. Its probably because Alya would consider it an op-ed piece for the modern romantic and would, also, give the worst advice.

Chat Noir proclaims his adoration? Bang him immediately.

Chloe insults her and her best friend in a single breathe? Bang down her door, with doormen in tow, and throw her to the streets. 

Adrien Agreste hides in her house? Bang him then get connections with the dad. Two-for-one sale!

Unsurprisingly, the latter sounds like she’s angling for Mr. Agreste, and if that isn’t a clear indication she’s known Alya too long, there’s no way she can tell her a thing. 

Marinette is groaning like a troubled moped as she approaches the door to Alya’s newest cafe discovery. The front door is glass but a distinct darkness reflects through the window which stops Marinette to consider if it is still morning or that the store is closed. 

However, the door pushes open when pressured and she finds the entire cafe is shadowed in dim light and too many black curtains. Marinette is certain she stumbled into the cafe for the undead, which is actually a fantastic cafe name when one considers morning patrons. Alya is sitting in a booth a few steps from the door and waves her down, her wonderful smile a strange contrast to the general bleakness. 

Marinette sits across from her, the black leather seat reflects the light at the center of the table, and looks around at the blackboards, the scatter of high skinny tables with bolted chairs, and workers with piercings. The menu on the table displays pictures of all the drinks which are either complete black or ironic pink. Her mouth twitches when she considers anything eerie from her life is easily overshadowed by the terrible atmosphere here. A bit genius, actually. 

“Marinette, your hair!” Alya exclaims, slapping the table. Marinette flushes, containing her glee, and tentatively touches the corner of the princess braid still safe on her head. She preserved it the best she could when she went to bed, adding all the bobby pins that didn’t exist before and wrapping it in a scarf, and was quite happy looking at it this morning. “Did you get it done at a salon? You never want to go!”

“Well, I—“

“I knew you’d look like a bombshell if you went to a professional.”

Marinette frowns. “I do fine on my own.”

Alya gives a here-or-there gesture with her hand flat, and looks dubious. “You have a poor, hot artist vibe. ‘I only have time for mascara and head buns because I can kite a man with my deep inner thoughts and button nose face’,” She teases then gestures to her own face. “Some of us have to watch youtube videos.”

Marinette pouts and plops her face onto her hand. “I don’t kite men.”

“Only hot people say that.”

A female employee walks up to their table for their order, which exempts Marinette’s response. After ordering, Alya begins gesturing excitedly about her weekend with Nino, where they went on a grand date to a concert and restaurants. It’s rare for them to go on dates because Nino travels with his job; or when he is home, he’s so tired from jet lag it’s just a lot of cuddling and extracurricular activities that Alya loves to describe in torturous detail. It’s hard to look Nino in the face sometimes. 

“Alright, alright, I’ve said enough,” Alya sighs like a lovelorn dove. ”I just love him too much, you know? Let’s get back to your clearly interesting weekend.” She waggles her eyebrows which puts up Marinette’s hackles. 

She picks up her drink that arrived during Alya’s anecdote, one of the ironically pink frappuccinos with chocolate skulls on the side, to cover the bottom half of her expression. She scrambles for anything of interest. 

“I went running two mornings in a row,” she shrugs. 

“Trying to look good for someone?” Marinette clenches her jaw, the plastic straw crushes underneath her teeth, and curses Alya. She was always good at steering a conversation. 

“More like, trying to get rid of the extra pounds someone put on me the past several months,” she quips.

“Gurl, give me some credit. I know when you’re hiding something,” Alya smirks. She brings her drink to her mouth, it’s a latte— the darkest black Marinette has ever seen— and also decorated with a foam skull. Alya’s delight in the taste is reflected when she downs half of it within a second. “Did you finally make it to next base with Chat?”

“He hasn’t shown up since the day I got back,” Marinette admits, going with a partial truth. 

“Oh,” Alya blinks several times. “That’s… surprising.”

What’s more surprising is Alya actually looks surprised. She holds her latte at bay, considering it in contemplative silence, then sips it with more patience than previously. Like she was holding something back. Marinette tilts her head. “You think?”

Alya blinks several times, again, and waves her off. “No, no, I was thinking…I just had a feeling he was a good guy.”

“You said he was probably a murderer,” Marinette intones. 

“Obviously, I was joking.”

“And an adulterer.”

“We live in Paris, not Antartica.”

Marinette shakes her head, unsure of her friend’s sudden good faith. Though she has pushed Marinette towards Chat since she realized Marinette’s over the top admiration, at the same time she is supportive of keeping her in traditional and healthy matches. From her perspective, him giving up means he’s a tease, artificial, and possibly an actual adulterer. Definitely not a good base for boyfriend material. 

Alya’s eyes twinkle suddenly, like a spark of inspiration, and she waves her empty cup towards Marinette. “How about this: Nino and I are going to a Karaoke Bar next Friday. You should come with us! Nino’s bringing an old friend, and I hate third wheeling the friend dates,” Alya says. 

“Karaoke?” Marinette asks. 

“You sing for a stranger but not your best friend? I’m shook,” She says with the utmost seriousness. “You need to get this guy right out of your head. Embarrassing yourself is the best option.”

Marinette groans into a smile, imagining said embarrassment. “Why must you torture me?”

“Because I’m all knowing and all powerful.”

* * *

 

Marinette cannot enact ‘operation warrior princess’ until Wednesday afternoon, when she catches sight of Manon at the front desk. If Marinette hopes to meet Chat Noir when he no longer shows up on to balcony, and she had checked every night, then she has to ask the central hub of communication. 

“Manon?” Marinette asks. Manon hums, an arm leaning on the desk and supporting her head as she reads a novel. The cover is tilted low and Manon looks about as interested as a fox to an ant. Required class reading, then. “Do you happen to know what happened to that—um, singer? The one that use to come out every night?”

Manon hums, again, flatly, looking like she was stuck in the void of reading the last line of her page and the battle has worn her a reading speed of 20 words per minute. Marinette wonders if she should come back later, but Manon would probably be done for the day, and Marinette made a promise to herself.

“Did he ever find that girl? The one Plagg pointed out?”

Manon snaps the book shut, like an electric wire hits her, and stares aghast as Marinette. “Plagg. Oh my goodness, don’t get me started on Plagg, that dolt!”

Marinette straightens out, happy something caught the girl’s interest, and asks, “What happened?”

“Okay, I can’t tell you all the details, because Plagg said the guy is afraid girls will flock his door. Which I don’t blame him. They would if they knew the whole package.” Marinette’s mind latches onto the information, wondering if she fell for a Mr. Darcy after all. “But I do need to rant a bit.” She pauses and looks over Marinette. “I love your hair.”

Marinette is use to the compliments, dragging out the remains of the hairstyle to its last. It wont survive the night, the frays becoming less stylish and her hair needs to be washed soon, which definitely disappoints her. “Thank you. And I won’t tell anyone. Not even, Alya.”

“Please, tell Alya. Actually bring her along so I can rant to her as well, and maybe we can solve this dramatic liaison in a single afternoon,” Manon sighs. 

Marinette tends to forget Manon and Alya are as tight as twine whenever they’re in the same room. They have the same interest for drama and mystery and just about the same amount of cynical humor. 

“So, Plagg, he’s an idiot,” Manon starts. “He’s an idiot because he got the wrong door number, and now our dear singer is ensnared in the claws of a she-devil.”

Marinette’s mind buzzes at the words. Chat is still looking for her. He wasn’t chased away, he was sent down the wrong path! “So he knows its the wrong girl?”

“Yes! But he’s with the she-devil’s out of guilt for leading her on for a day. A DAY. That girl would guilt him for the rest of her life just to keep him ensnared. Plagg is a penchant for bad luck. So, now, what’s happening?” Manon leans on her forearm and waves grandly to herself. “Plagg comes crawling to me to solve the case. Which is a pain because I couldn’t even figure out our male without him telling me, how am I supposed to find the leading lady?”

“So, you don’t have any clues?” Marinette asks.

Manon looks physically pained. “Im dried up.”

This is so much information, fantastic information, that Marinette doesn’t want to wait. She can straighten this out right now— just tell Manon and she can point her to Chat. Perhaps Alya’s gut really did mean something. “I might, actually, know something to help?”

Manon perks up, eyes wide, and leans over the counter to grip Marinette’s arms. “You’ve been holding out on me Dupain-Cheng? Who gave you the goods? What do you know?”

Marinette raises her hand in defense. “Before I say anything, you’re my friend, right?”

Manon pulls back and huffs. “Of course! I would cover murder for you.”

“Manon.” 

“Including my murder. Full coverage.”

“Okay, fine.” Marinette takes a breath “The girl who sings with him—“ a bustle of people returning from work, enter the front doors and Marinette’s nerves flusters her words. “—I, I happen to know her. And she’s looking for Ch-that guy, too.”

For some reason, even if she trusts Manon, before the cat is caught, she doesn’t want this soap opera even remotely broadcasted to the building. She remembers the doormen teasing her about too much takeout, what would they say about her love life at this stage? Barry has a boyfriend now, and she could not take his pity stares again.

“You knew? This whole time?” Manon stresses. “No wonder you were so excited that day! You went to tell her!” 

Marinette breathes relief. “Something like that. Look, she’s trying to talk to him. If you can give me his door number, this whole debacle can be cleared up.”

Manon bites the inside of her lip. “I don’t know, Plagg sort of told me in confidence. Even if it is her, which I’m not doubting you—“

Marinette recognizes a sinking ship when she sees one and changes tactics. She grabs Manon’s hand between two and hers and leans across the desk. “Manon. This is true love at stake. This could be the greatest story to ever come out of these apartments and you are at the center of it.”

“That’s a little—“

“You always complain that romances in this city are too dramatic. Maybe it’s because the wrong people keep tearing them apart. Romeo and Juliet. Westley and Buttercup.”

“Clarke and Lexa.” Manon’s eyes are wide and inspired, and Marinette is rejoicing. “You’re right, if I leave it to Plagg, he’ll screw it up again. The girls need to take action now.”

Manon takes a post it note from the desk drawer and scribbles on it before folding it up and sliding it across the counter. 

“Thank you, Manon,” Marinette sighs, clenching the paper in her fist. Manon sends soft punch to her arm in return. 

“I better hear all about it the next time I’m on shift.”

Then the next three seconds is a whirlwind. Marinette is smiling and turning towards the elevators when a heavy obstacle hits her mid step and she’s careening forward. Since the paper is in her fist, she attempts to use one hand to balance check, but another person is already mid motion to catch her, so her body is going the wrong way. In result, there is turning, tangling and crashing to the ground. 

“What are you doing, Bruce?” Manon yelps.

A soft grunt responds along with a jiggling motion under Marinette’s head. She’s rising on fours from the ground and her face is right next to a well pressed pant leg. Bruce, the least clumsy and least likely to cause an accident in the entire building, is on his rear next to her. 

“You really do work in the shadows, don’t you?” She jokes, though a bit dizzy from the sudden fall. A weird imbalance is causing her head to tilt and she looks to the left and the princess braid is no more, dangling in a single long braid with locks falling out. She wouldn’t be surprised if some bobby pins were scattered on the ground next to her. 

Bruce smiles, an eerie and strange sight for those who know him. “My mistake,” he says. Manon walks around the desk to help Marinette up, in which she smiles gratefully. 

“Wow, what happened here?”

Plagg is in casual attire, a black bomber jacket, a t-shirt, and jeans, and standing right next to Manon. Marinette glances below her and notices a few suitcases scattered on the ground next to a golden cart. They must have fallen, though how she didn’t hear them is amazing. 

“I didn’t know you worked tonight,” Manon glares, probably still riled up from their conversation. 

“Barry needed the night off,” he shrugs. He shuffles closer to Bruce, dragging his black converse across the ground, then offers out a hand. Manon accepts the explanation, her shoulders unwinding, but her eyes are still narrowed at Plagg. 

Marinette takes her cue to leave and looks down at her right hand, now empty. She grumbles then whispers to Manon, “I think I dropped the paper.”

Manon looks towards her then at the ground, which is usually spotless so finding a pink post-it should be a breeze, but there are too many the suitcases. Manon looks towards Plagg, probably not wanting him to see her, before turning towards the desk, but Bruce taps her shoulder first. Manon turns with her brows raised. 

“You’re almost off your shift. Do you mind sending up some boxes to Madame Bustier? Now, if you please.”

“Ah-um,” Manon glances at Marinette and sends an apologetic smile. “Right on it.”

Marinette clamps her lips to a thin line and curses her luck. She looks at the suitcases and leans down to help pick them up, hoping to find the paper, but Plagg shuffles in front of her. “I have this. Do you need anything else today?” 

Marinette sighs, knowing it looks awkward to stay and watch him clean up. “No, thank you. I happened to drop a piece of paper. If you find it, can you send it up to my room?”

“Yes, Miss,” Plagg grins and stands there. She looks around awkwardly and nods in return and walks to the elevator. She looks back and Plagg is still standing there with a smile, not cleaning up yet. Marinette narrows her eyes at him before the door dings and is forced to enter.

He’s still smiling, stock still, until the doors close. 

She remembers thinking that Plagg must be close friends with Adrien. Considering how strange he is, she wouldn’t be surprised.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’d like to think we’re almost there. It’s a nice thought— no basis for it, but nice nonetheless.
> 
> I always write to improve, so comments and critiques are welcome! Please rip this to bits! Thank you!

 

* * *

 

Marinette enters a narrow red brick building near the center of the city that expands to the size of half a coliseum. She has to check the outside to make sure she didn’t enter a Tardis. The frigid morning air follows her through the doors and a prickling sensation hits her as she stands at the door. She’s both elated and terrified. 

It’s the promised shoot for Gabriel’s fashion line and Marinette had no time to forget because her boss mentioned it every day of the week. Which is warranted because it’s a big deal, its _huge,_ and she should make the best of the opportunity. 

The issue, the thing that terrifies her, is her job to deal with Adrien Agreste. Adrien, who could have foiled her future with Chat. Adrien, who gently tugged through her hair and left a beautiful hair clip. Adrien, whose own ruffled hair can only imply sexual connotations. 

She will admit she swooned for him a bit, the butterflies hitting her stomach whenever she saw the princess braid could power a motor bike, but her admiration for Chat is stronger and more reliable than simple attraction. She knows what she feels for Chat and why, Adrien, however, is basic human psychology. He’s nice, he’s hot, she swoons a bit. She’s not going to think about it. 

Then there’s Chloe and Gabriel Agreste, which add fortified reasons of their own not to think more of Adrien than a casual acquaintance. 

There are several stations set up: male, female, couples, families—and she has to walk the line to figure which group is possibly her own. 

She walks up to a man crouched at the outer edge of a white backdrop, his hair is a close garnet shave. “Hello? Are you the photographer?”

He swivels his head in her direction and stands with flourish. “Ah, yes! Dear Marinette!” He greets her with two kisses on the cheeks. “I am Vincent. I have heard much about you. Together we will be making magic, you’ll see.”

Marinette giggles at his buoyancy and greets back. “I see. I was wondering if you could point to the wardrobe before we start. Is Adrien here yet?”

“Yes, Agreste’s luscious looks. They are beyond the curtains in that left corner. How wonderful they look,” he sighs. Marinette has to look imploringly before he remembers to continue. “Ah, and the Agreste boy is running late. But I’m sure it won’t be long,” he smiles. 

He _would_ be running late. But she decides to take this opportunity to familiarize the wardrobe and consider accessories, makeup, and theme. She was sent photos of the individual pieces, but it’s difficult to truly know her course of action until the fabric is under her fingers. She’s almost concerned about stepping on the toes of the other artists but Gabriel did ask for her assistance, so she’s going to give her best. 

There are almost twenty pieces that Marinette has the freedom to combine into completed looks, and she looks through fourteen of them before a shout of elation comes from outside the curtains. She checks and it’s definitely her photographer hugging and ruffling the head of Adrien Agreste. Adrien looks a tad winded, a light perspiration on his brow and a heavy rise of his chest, and Marinette, unwillingly, feels a light fluttering in her chest at the sight of him.

The photographer gestures a moment longer before he points in the direction of the clothes, also serving as the changing room, and on the other side of the room. When Adrien looks towards her and catches her eye, a broad shine of white teeth greet her with raised brows like a child discovering Santa Claus. 

He jogs over. “Marinette, I didn’t expect you,” Adrien greets. 

“You’re late,” she responds, crossing her arms.

“Are you mad?” Adrien has the sense to look chastised. “I did run as fast as I could. I was held up longer than I expected." He makes a motion towards his face and that’s when Marinette realizes his new features, and she has every right to mentally groan. 

The narrow rectangular glasses, perched perfectly on his face, are black frames on top and translucent wiring on the bottom. It doesn’t fill out his face but it adds a sophistication to his jawline that Marinette would be silly to say doesn’t look incredibly attractive. Which should mean nothing to her with any other model, which she passes only pleasantries and shallow comments, but she knows the nature of the young Agreste and his eyes can persuade a vampire to daylight. She curses him in her head.

“It-It’s fine,” she stumbles, swallowing a few times to clear herself, and raise her head towards the other side of the room. “Let’s get you into makeup.”

She walks in the direction of the hair and makeup stations, several artists at the ready to assist them, and Marinette addresses the head of the team, who directs them to a chair. When she turns to direct him to sit she notices him perusing the top of her head, which is styled in two tight buns. He looks a tad disappointed, which Marinette strongly relates. The braid lasted three workdays before falling tragically to an accident. It’s silly wanting to maintain the look forever, but she really was enamored with it. But there was no way on this planet she would admit this. 

The makeup artists are amiable and fast, and Adrien stays silent and pliable so the process is painless. Returning to change to the first planned outfit is also painless-- is what Marinette wishes to say. 

“Can I ask you something?” Adrien says. 

“Sure.” Marinette whips her head around from a rack of clothes, to be met with a shirtless Agreste— which does not affect her, she asserts like a mantra. She directs her gaze to only his face, where she is certain he is trying not to laugh. 

“I haven’t done this in a while. You work with a lot of models?” He asks.

“Yes, often.”

“Male models?”

“Yes?” she draws out the word. 

“So, if you had to compare,” He spreads his arms and takes a slow turn. Marinette’s face is already collapsing to disbelief, “where would I rank?”

“Zero,” Marinette intones and turns back to the rack. “That includes personality.”

“You don’t really think that.” She can hear the smug smile. 

“How about you finish changing, then I’ll tell you how you look.”

There’s silence and she hears him scamper back to the changing booth. A minute later he asks, “Okay, honest answer?”

She tries not to roll her eyes too hard, though her lips her pursed to prevent a smile, and turns.

He’s wearing the high collared dark grey knit sweater tucked into fitted grey flat front pants with a black belt. She has to tug the belt to show how high it should fit and she stands within a hairs breath of his space to fluff the collar at a flattering height. The glasses are gone; and peaches and coconut are wafting around him, subtle and natural like lounging on a warm beach. He doesn’t say or do anything untoward, which is good because she would pinch him if he did.

She pretends to admire him up and down when she steps back, before saying, “Now, you are a one.”

“It’s pronounced ‘ _the_ one’,” he taunts.

She pinches him. 

Vincent is adjusting cords next to the editing station when they emerge, some makeup and hair artists hover nearby. Marinette glances over at Adrien and touches his arm for a, hopefully, comforting squeeze. 

“You’re going to do great,” she says, meaning it sincerely. Even him being an obnoxious flirt, she really wants him to do well today. They’re partners and she’ll give him all her professionalism when it calls for it. 

Adrien is staring at her hand for a moment then turns his head when his mouth begins to upturn, probably preening from the compliment, which is what should would prefer in the situation. 

“I have a feeling this will be like riding a bike.” His eyes turn to a sideways glance. “But feel free to comfort me anytime, princess.” He winks at her before the photographer is ushering him over. Marinette bites the inside of her cheek as all sense of sincerity flies from her mind. 

Not five minutes later, Adrien is being yelled at by the photographer. 

“No, no, it is all off! I do not want passive cuteness while nibbling on sweet candy. I want aggressive sexiness while eating baguette,” Vincent moans. 

Adrien runs his fingers through his hair, messing up the work from the hair dressers and scuffs at the ground. “Okay, Okay.” The hairdressers and makeup begin to move forward to fix his bad habits when he looks towards Marinette and waves her over, stopping the small team. 

Marinette obliges and whispers in his space, “Faulty bike?” She raises her brow. 

He pouts. “Maybe it has been a few years, but I don’t speak photographer anymore. So can you give me better advice than food and sex metaphors?”

“First, stop fiddling with your hair unless part of the shot. Second, relax. Your smiles look practiced, you’re so stiff you’d think this was an execution,” She tugs at various points of his clothing for more flattering folds and he moves towards her like a magnet. “And the look with this collection does explore sex appeal under thick layers of clothing. As of now, you have as much sex appeal as a pumpkin.”

He tilts his head. “Even Cinderella rides pumpkins.”

“Agreste,” Marinette reprimands, smacking his chest.

He’s holding onto a laugh. “Right. Sex, sex, sex.” Marinette avoids staring at the way his mouth forms around the word. His eyes do a soft twinkle then he holds out his hand, palm up. “Give me your hand.”

Marinette blinks at the appendage, then stares with her brow raised. 

“It’ll help,” he asserts. 

She relents, thinking of doing her job well, and places her hand on top which Adrien maneuvers to tangle their fingers together, raising the hairs down Marinette’s arm. 

“Are you trying to prove a point?” Marinette asks, the smooth texture of his long fingers sending pulsations through her hand. She looks up to his face and he looks as smug as he ever has and she instantly jerks her hand, but his grip prevails. 

“Yes! Love it! Marinette, darling, you’re an angel.” The shout from Vincent is behind her and Marinette turns to look at him. “Come, come, artists; fix his hair and Mari, we will do upper body shots, if you can…” he makes a crouching motion and Marinette instantly drops to the floor, Adrien’s grip still in her hand.

She stutters out, “W-we can get a body shot if he holds his expression.”

“No, no, this is raw human contact. Your blood is pumping, heat is rising, and he is in big, stuffy sweater and can’t contain it. Yes! Like that. Hold that one!”

Marinette wants to protest but she’s almost sure it would be in vain and Adrien would feign trouble again. It reminds her of when he faked his skills at Ultimate Mecha until it was to his advantage he turned everything around. She settles with glaring up at him the entire time, fighting physical reactions whenever he stroked a thumb or sent pleasant squeezes down her arm. His teasing grins and obviously fake fond expressions stare at her in return. 

When they finish, Marinette hopes that’s the worst of it, but they have eight more combinations to go and Adrien is yelled at each time, so he either asks for help himself or the photographer sends her over. 

Through the mercy of the gods, she doesn’t have to stand next to him the entire time, like the first, but that’s because no other pose can be maintained without blocking the camera. She always has to touch him—‘Beautiful woman is hot knife to male butter, melt him! ’ as Vincent put it—or near touching that she’s usually breathing in his space. 

Some satisfaction could come out of the exercise— from the rare red face she can drag out of him or when he stuttered when she slipped that he looked attractive in an outfit—if she wasn’t absolutely sure Adrien is doing this to torture her. Marinette gets glares and dubious stares from other groups around the building. She’s in Adrien’s space much too often in the shoot, making them seem intimate and unprofessional, but she remains pliable to the photographer and each shot at the computer does look fantastic.

At the end of the shoot, she thanks everyone for their handwork and Vincent gives a wide warm hug, and she adores him for his exuberant passion which took away from her obvious predicament of being half in the shoot. 

Adrien isn’t in sight, probably changing, so she hefts her work bag on her shoulder and takes strides to the exit. 

“Marinette! Marinette, hold up!”

She opens the door to the winter world, and plays off the motion to not hearing him. Jerking of the hinges behind her signals that he didn’t get the clue. He hops in front of her, glasses still off, and sends a nervous smile.

“Hey. I was wondering if you want—“

“Sorry, Adrien, but I’m not in the mood.” She shuts him down. His face crumbles in an instant.

“Are you…Are you mad at me for something?”

“I’m not—actually, yes. I am.”

“Can I know why?”

“You don’t know? I was convinced you were doing it on purpose!”

His shoulders fall towards the ground like a depressed elephant’s ears. “Oh.“ The implication that he didn’t considered her discomfort, raises her ire. 

“You made me look awful. You made me feel…cheap! I studied fashion for so long, and I’m capable of giving direction without having to look like a—like a—“ she groans and brings her hands to her face to pinch at her nose. “I’m sorry, if I’m overreacting, but next time you need a girl within hairs breath to do your job, bring your girlfriend.”

Adrien barely flinches, but he takes a determined step while his face scrunches in confusion. “Wait, you’re mad because you think you didn’t do your job? That I was trying to embarrass you?”

“What other reason is there?”

Adrien sighs and smiles, his posture unwinding. “Because _I_ was the one invading your space? And you find me annoying? Arrogant? Awkward?”

Marinette is shaking her head at each suggestion. “No, I don’t care even if you were those things, which you’re not.” She pauses, considering. “Well, you might. But thank you for confirming you were only thinking of yourself.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice is heavy, direct. “I was being selfish and I didn’t think professionally. You never gave me an inch, while disappointing was right. You asked the photographer’s preference, you only checked on me when asked, you weren’t overbearing, and everything looked fantastic.”

Marinette huffs through her nose and looks around at the street. “You say that but—“

“You were amazing.” He grabs her wrists to get her gaze again. “Are amazing. I was born in this business. I’m not stating an opinion.”

The sun struggles behind the winter clouds to send its rays, so Adrien’s gaze isn’t as sparkling today, or unnerving. The grip on her wrist sends different chills than when they were inside, it matches pulses and feels solid and good-natured. The revving of motorcycle engines, car tires on gravel, the ding of a restaurant bell nearby, and whistling wind plays in her ears as she stands near him. It doesn’t seem like long, but it’s a loud melody of the world singing its everyday wails while a man is currently twisting sparks to her heart.

“Are you always so difficult?” She has to ask, a smile playing on her lips. 

“You’re a special case.” He grins in return, shoulders unwinding. 

“You should owe me two favors now.” Remembering their initial bargain. 

He glows like a child at an amusement park. “I’ll call one in right now, if you don’t have anywhere to be?”

It’s barely past mid-day and she can’t think of immediate plans.“Should I be wary again?”

“Depends what you ask,” he says. 

Mari realizes she has a bit of pent up energy either from the soft grip on her wrist or from the initial ire towards the person gripping her. She wants to get rid of it, like shaking off a bad omen, and start off fresh.

“I have an idea, but we need a change of clothes.”

He twists his grip to grab her hand, a pleasant distribution of heat after standing still in the cold, and whisks them to a taxi back to the apartments. 

Mari walks casually through the rotating doors but Adrien sneaks through, head swiveling like a sugar high squirrel. He catches her expression. 

“I have to be careful of, you know,” he jerks his head upwards. Marinette rolls her eyes and stomps towards the elevator. “Not because I’m— we had a bad break up, is all.”

Now Marinette’s head swivels around and her mouth opens to ask the obvious question, but then Manon appears next to her at the elevator. She’s carrying three suitcases and looks to her left to see Marinette then breaks out in a grin.

“Marinette! Plagg had me running all over today, I didn’t think I’d catch you. I have—“

“Hi, Manon,” Adrien interrupts over Marinette’s shoulder. 

“Oh, hi,” Manon disregards, then doubles back. “Adrien! Hi.” She looks at Marinette in confusion and Marinette shrugs like she can’t control the will of a grown man-child. Manon looks doubly confused. 

“Marinette and I are going on a little adventure. If you could keep a certain someone at bay, I’d really appreciate it.” Marinette can imagine the model’s superpowers of persuasion inking from his pores. 

“You and Marinette?” Manon nods, squinting her eyes in Adrien’s direction. It’s a brief silence of Manon just staring and squinting at odd intervals; so odd that Marinette has to glance over her shoulder, confused at their alien communication skills. Adrien turns his head when she does and just beams. 

Manon huffs a laugh then and looks at Marinette aghast. “You cheeky girl,” Manon whispers. She looks at Adrien and salutes, the suitcase swinging between her fingers. “You two have a great night.” 

“I believe we shall, mademoiselle,” Adrien responds. He ushers Marinette forward into the elevator and presses the number to her floor. 

“Wait, didn’t you have something to give me?” Marinette asks Manon, the elevator doors beginning to close. 

Manon says, “Nope, I already gave it to you.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I sometimes stare at the Explicit rating and think, when is that going to happen. That’s all they wanna read, come on.   
> I’d like to dedicate this chapter to the amazing, AMAZING anon comment on FF. I wrote this faster because I was so moved, honestly.   
> Also, this chapter is super prose heavy. Lots of descriptions and too much narrative, probably, which I learned I need to work on until my fingers are blue. 
> 
> Edit: The wonderful TOG84 beta-ed this chapter, so I updated to reflect his help. Super, super appreciated! 
> 
> I always write to improve, so comments and critiques are welcome! Please rip this to bits! Thank you!

* * *

 

Manon’s comment is a silk thread, hard to identify and impossible to get out of her hair. 

She frantically leafs through her memory of their interaction. Did she say any numbers while they talked; a name, perhaps? She glances over at Adrien behind her, recalling his strange stare off, and her mind flares at a possibility.

“Adrien,” she addresses. “When you said, ‘a certain someone’ to Manon, you meant Chloe, right?”

Adrien’s brows furrow. “Of course,” he pauses, then his brows raise to alarm, “You don’t think—I’m not dating every girl in the building.” 

That never occurred to her and she has to nibble her bottom lip to prevent laughing. Imagining Adrien entertaining a harem of female neighbors from different floors of the apartment wasn’t that hard to conjure. 

In actuality, she suspects Adrien might know Chat Noir, something of high probability when he’s such friends with Plagg and, apparently, Manon. But it seems she is wrong—unless he’s dating Chat Noir, who is in fact not a female, and wouldn’t that be a piece of humble pie to unravel the mystery.

She lifts her shoulders and comments, “Just clarifying.” She witnesses the raise of his shoulders, preparing to defend his honor from her supposed preconceived notion, but they reach her floor and she cuts him off with orders. 

She directs Adrien to change into comfortable athletic clothes and meet in the lobby as soon as he’s done. He sulks during the instructions, a puppy pout pursing his lips, but he agrees all the same.  

The idea that Adrien isn’t aware of her perception of him puts her in a strangely good mood. It could be a small kind of revenge after he sent shivers to her skin at the shoot, and it’s satisfying that he’ll never know she’s a little affected by him. She skips out the elevator when she meets him twenty minutes later. 

Marinette has changed her winter layers for fitted, breathable clothes: black leggings, leg warmers, lace up boots, a long sleeve thin shirt, and a red crop hoodie. In these moments, she really appreciates being a designer because she added custom pockets to her leggings that relinquishes her from carrying a bag.

Adrien is lurking near the rotating doors, clearly hiding from attention, and Marinette pauses a few feet from him when she catches his attire. He is wearing black skinny harem pants, a long fitted green t-shirt, and a black zip up hoodie with his hair tucked into a beanie, which flattens the locks to his head and makes him look younger. This is the first time she’s seen him in anything other than professional clothes, which augments his arrogant figure, and damn if she doesn’t prefer him in street clothes. 

“What is it?” Adrien asks.

“Sorry?”

“Is there something weird about my clothes or…?” His brows climb to a knowing stare.

“I was just thinking about where we need to go,” Marinette dodges. She walks out the doors and heads in the direction of the metro. Adrien follows suit, close in step. It’s a five minute walk and along the way they pass an open square, and Adrien slows his pace next to her. 

A sizable crowd is gathered near a fountain where a busker band is playing swing music. A few couples of various ages are dancing, some are snapping and clapping to the rhythm, and generally there’s a lightness to the gathering.

A motion next to Marinette causes her to look over. Adrien’s hand faces palm up in her direction, clearly an indication for her to grasp it. 

“I’m having deja-vu,” Marinette remarks. 

“I’m not tricking you; I already learned my lesson. I’m asking.” 

There’s no rush to catch the metro now, the sun still hanging in the East, and she would be lying if she wasn’t affected by the energy of the music. Marinette accepts to indulge in the joyous scene, but whether she trusts a dance with Adrien Agreste is another question. She stares at him, dubious, but his expression continues to be open and unassuming. He looks so simple then, not the aristocratic son of her favorite designer or the roguish flirt without a filter, but just any man wanting to dance with a woman. The sloping bob of his neck as he swallows, a plain nervous gesture, seals it.

She takes his hand and Adrien, beaming, tugs her to the crowd. They take a place to edge of the group and he weaves their fingers in a loose grip in one hand and places the other on her hip. 

“Don’t think,” he whispers in her space.

The first few steps, she’s stiff, almost like an alien controlling her body and not sure how to move against a partner. Then Adrien takes Marinette’s hand and twirls her one, two, _three_ times, blurring everything around her into boisterous tunes and joyous motion, and she’s laughing. 

He uses the momentum to swing her opposite him—she’s hanging on the tether of his hand and squeaks at the fast motion—then she’s being pulled back and flushes bodies, so he’s grasping around her waist and twirling them together. Then he repeats the motion. They’re swinging in and out together like synchronized yo-yos, the cold of winter melting from their bones and the electricity of motion fills their wake. She follows his lead and he rewards her with an impressed quirk of his mouth, but its clear he has the stronger affinity with dancing. 

He demonstrates said skills when he does solo numbers such as tapping, moonwalking, and the Charleston, which is so spirited she claps to the music to encourage him. When he gestures for her to do the same, her shoulders jolt from the unexpected request. She doesn’t think and mimics the dance her mother always did: the finger wag. Adrien laughs, of course, but claps for her as she did him.

They’re clasping hands again and each time its more natural and leaves goosebumps in its wake. They’re taking each others cues and never speak, they don’t need to; and Marinette’s world narrows to only him for that moment. No teasing, no flirting, but wholly expression and joy in motion and sound, and her heart sings to it. It’s not easy, like floating in a sea, but like surfing a wild wave and conquering it in the same way it can conquer her. It’s a respect, a partnership, an agreement.

Adrien grasps her waist— she squeals into a laugh— and spins them together. On the first turn she is raised above him and every turn following she’s sliding down his chest and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. 

Then he is there; mere inches from her face and grinning like a madman, gazing at her. A thrill buzzes to her head; she’s spellbound. She didn’t realize she was grinning so hard until it falls, and she’s gapping at him like a guppy. Butterflies are creating a tornado in her stomach and the slight sheen of sweat on his brow is so tantalizing she wants to swipe it for an excuse to get closer.

She imagines this is what all those rom-coms are talking about, because if Adrien tangled his hand in her hair and tugged her forward, she wouldn’t have stopped him. 

“Excuse me, darling.” A voice breaks in. 

Marinette jerks away in an instance, unwrapping her arms from his shoulders and hopping to the ground. Her head jumbles to focus on anything else and she’s realizing the buskers are now preparing to change songs and she’s wondering how long she was in Adrien’s arms and how it looked. Her face floods like a red light bulb. 

A senior couple stands to the left, and the female addresses them, “Mind if I cut in?” She gestures toward Adrien. Marinette glances at him, and then darts away, realizing she’s embarrassed to even see his expression. She jerks a nod. 

The elderly male puts out his elbow and asks her, “May I?”

Marinette unwinds at the sweet gesture and agrees. Dancing is different with the older man, she should praise the universe for such an obvious fact. It’s bouncy and fun and she’s not self-conscious of her movements . She glances at Adrien and he’s treating his partner wonderfully, smiling and keeping eye contact. He dips and twirls her at her cues, and it’s clear the experienced woman is giving him a run for his money in terms of leading, which he doesn’t seem to mind a bit.

When the song ends, Adrien and the woman walk back; she’s patting his hand while he’s talking in low tones, crouching a bit to be at her level. He nods and kisses the sides of her cheeks. The elderly man walks up to pat Adrien on the back, and Adrien tucks his head, sheepish. 

As the woman passes by Marinette, she says, “You got a good one.”

The woman walks away before Marinette could deny it, though convincing strangers not really a favorite past time. Adrien is looking at her and beaming, with a flush on his face from dancing. She wouldn’t be surprised if the elderly man said something similar to him. What a cliché. 

She’s about to tell Adrien they should go but he directs her to sit in the square for a moment, a bit of urgency to his tone, so she sits near the band until Adrien returns. About ten minutes later, he’s carrying two items in his hands has full pockets. Marinette views a folded crepe in one hand and a pie dish, which she assumes is a quiche, in the other. Her stomach rumbles from the cloying scent of fresh food. 

“Here, take your pick,” Adrien holds both choices in front of him, “I heard you’re not very good about eating meals.” 

Marinette notes, for the millionth time, how much she regrets having chatterboxes for doormen, but exceedingly grateful when the warm buttery crust of the quiche passes her mouth along with the cooked vegetable and egg center. She practically moans. 

Adrien eats his crepe with relish, Marinette notes she’s surprised he allows such a thing, and a few smears of chocolate linger on his lips, which Marinette gestures towards, stopping her raised hand mid-motion from wiping them herself. They continue their walk to the metro, finishing their small meals along the way. Adrien pays for their fare and they hop aboard within ten minutes. The bulging items in Adrien’s pockets are revealed as water bottles and he hands one to Marinette who gulps half of it down. 

“I never pegged you for such a great dancer,” Marinette mentions.

“Was I?” Adrien tilts his head. 

“You were capable of leading me around. That’s impressive.”

“I thought you were wonderful,” he contends. 

Marinette raises her hand, as if to stop him, and shakes her head. “It wasn’t me, at all.”

Adrien frowns, troubled. “I don’t understand you sometimes, Marinette.”

She blinks a few times. “What do you mean?”

“You _act_ shy and quiet, humbling yourself to everyone’s level, but push the right buttons and you’re unparalleled, like it’s no effort at all. I’m just at a loss.”

Marinette flushes, never receiving such a profound compliment. “I-I dont—I’m not…” She considers her words, finding she can’t pinpoint one, and looks around the train. “I’m not perfect.”  

“I wasn’t saying you have to be.”

She turns to him. “Weren’t you?”

“I’m saying, when you allow it, no one would ever fault you, because you’d be too busy dazzling them with your passion and extraordinary talents. I’m amazed no one is singing your praises somewhere.”

She knows he’s being sincere, his sparkling eyes say it all, and she’s stunned to silence. She’s not sure she can say another word to him ever again. Her eyes flutter, trying to process if such a man can exist in front of her, but she takes a shuddered breath and relents to listen to the metal squeaks of the metro’s flight through Paris. 

“W-what, um, happened to you and Chloe? You mentioned it earlier.” She hopes focusing on his romantic tendencies could help subdue any of her emotions that deign to consider him. 

“Ah, well,” Adrien gives a pregnant pause, like even he couldn’t explain it. “I thought she would be someone and then she wasn’t. Pretty normal for short relationships.”

Marinette squints at him. “What sort of person did you think she was?” 

Adrien glances at her then his cheeks raise to a light pink, which Marinette thinks is kinda cute and not helping her case to liking him more than she wants. “Well—um, just different. Kind, reserved, beautiful inside and out.”

“Chloe? Really? Were you in the Twilight Zone?”

“It’s kind of complicated.”

_I’ll say_ , she thinks. He clearly didn’t want to talk about it, so she smiles instead and sits in silence. She theorizes Chloe destroyed hoards of property during the break-up, and Marinette would feel bad to be reminded of that too. 

They transfer to the RER after twenty minutes—

“Aren’t the Catacombs near here? You’re really that mad?”

“What would I do to you there? Really?”

“I don’t know how far you take a favor.”

—then another twenty minutes pass to reach their destination.  It’s only a five minute walk and they reach large open metal gates. Adrien doesn’t reveal any recognition to the place, staring curiously at the large walls encompassing the property and allowing Marinette to lead the way.

The grounds are extensive, to say the least, with four large stretches of lawn and three parallel walkways leading to an old castle. Marinette turns, now walking backwards, and gestures with her arms out, “Welcome to Parc l’Akuma.”

“Sounds haunted.”

“It might be,” Marinette shrugs. “But it's perhaps the most lovely haunted grounds in Paris. Come on.”

Marinette leisurely waltzes past all the amenities of the park: the art museum inside the castle, the wonderfully tended gardens, and the open areas where families take their picnics and pets. Adrien glances at her every few seconds for a sense of direction, and she bounces in step as they approach her goal. She turns a corner where they are met with a large hedge wall, about twelve feet tall, with a singular entrance. 

“Here it is.” She waves with flourish. 

“And, what is this?” Adrien inquires. 

“Le Papillon Labyrinthe. One of the most difficult mazes in Paris, and when seen from above, looks like a complicated butterfly.” His expression lights up so she continues. “If you want to try solving it, go ahead, but I had this idea that I use to play with my best friend. It seemed like a fun idea at the time.” She becomes embarrassed as she says it aloud, looking at the wall in the hopes she becomes less self conscious, which is perfect timing when you already took a train trip to get there. 

“We would run around the maze trying to find each other. Sort of an extreme hide and seek. It’s really fun, and requires a bit of attention…” she trails off.  Marinette is met with silence and she has to look back at him. 

His smile is near to bursting, she expects him to combust like a male Violet Beauregarde. 

“What?” She asks. 

“You _liked_ playing Ultimate Mecha with me.” Marinette’s shoulders stiffen. “You liked it so much you sent us an hour outside Paris to challenge me in a hedge maze.” Adrien is absolutely blinding with smugness. 

“That’s—no. Not true,” she argues. 

“You could’ve asked for something simple. Anything within city bounds and been done with it. But you wanted to share this moment with me.”

“I had an urge and you offered to take me. It’s…not as fun without a friend.”

“So, I’m a friend?” He perks. Marinette groans, keeping her satisfaction at the phrase in check. “Princess, it feels like you’re the one doing me a favor.”

Marinette doesn’t know how she survived his presence this long. Adrien just continues to look smug and walks into the entrance which winds to an open circle with a singular bench. Marinette explains it’s the true entrance to the maze and he asks the general layout.

“There are two paths to get to the end; two wings to the butterfly. But there are also paths that lead to the other wing.”

“So, what happens if I find you?”

“Then you win that round.”

“You know we have to have stakes. Betting pools, favors, dinners, and so on. We’re adults. ”

Sensory memory of him combing through her hair releases tingles down her spine. “Adults have friendly competition,” she notes.

“Our enthusiasm for competition isn’t ‘friendly’, Marinette,” he counters. 

Marinette recalls his own attitude when he played against her. Yelling, dirty ploys, victorious shouts, and disbelieving grunts come to mind; which she completely forgot since the events after left such an impression. He matched her energy without a beat, and she would be a bald faced liar if she didn’t find it exciting at the time.  

“Fine. Name a price,” she relents.

“Your phone number.”

“What?” She says. “I could just…give it to you?”

“Nope,” he asserts. “I want to earn it. Otherwise, whenever I want to see you, I’ll have to hover around your floor, but since Chloe is next door it's pretty dangerous. See? I have all the motivation to win.”

Marinette does not miss the insinuation of facing Chloe for the sake of her company, the sizzling delight in her stomach notices as well. “Well, same for me, then.” His eyes grow wide and she stumbles around her response. “I get your number, then I’ll know who to block all my calls.”

“That’s low, princess.” He chuckles.

“Get off your high horse then, Agreste.”

He smiles and the game is afoot. She explains it simply: one person will have to hide for ten minutes from the seeker. If they are spotted, the seeker has to tag them to count. If they happen to have a draw, whoever found the other faster is the victor. They’ll use their phones as timers, and, if they’re not found, they’ll call out time and meet in the center for the next round. 

They synchronize their timers on their phones and Marinette hides first. She sprints to the left, getting some warmth in her blood, and uses her thirty-second head start to become familiar with the twists and turns. She’ll be unlucky if she meets any dead ends, since Adrien’s taller stature gives him a longer reach in case she tries to juke him. She hopes ten minutes is not sufficient time to familiarize the entire maze, and she may survive staying to one spot, but if touching Adrien at the shoot amounted to anything, she’s aware he’s fit enough to cover a lot of distance. 

She chooses a long open path to wait, intending to run across if he catches her, and checks her timer, which indicates Adrien entered forty-seconds ago.

Four minutes pass, a constant anticipation pounding in her chest, and she stands to look around the corner, and to her luck, he’s ten feet away and jogging. As soon as she catches sight, a thrill kicks her in the bum and books it the opposite direction. She’s unsure if he saw her, but he must have heard her breathe hitch or the following running steps. She hears fast strides behind her and she shrieks, cutting corners and almost falling several times.

“Your prince has come to rescue you, princess! Don’t run away!” Adrien teases and her startled laugh almost slows her enough that she feels the air of his hand passing her back. Somehow, she makes it to a path that opens three ways and prays she takes the most confounding one. She finds a winding path with a lone square hedge and shuffles to a crouch behind it and holds her breathe so he passes her. 

Another two minutes go by, and he didn’t even make it down her path. She breathes easier. 

The remaining time is uneventful. She wanders the maze without a sound from Adrien, though she was spooked by a couple birds landing on a hedge and she’s glad no one saw that. Her timer blares and she shouts for him. She thinks she hears a huffed shout back, but it was far away. 

They meet back in the center as promised. His hair sticks to his head in parted frays and there’s a flush to his cheeks. “I’m surprised you lost me,” she starts.

“You have no idea,” he inhales a deep breathe, still winded from his jog she assumes, “how frustrating that was. One round is not going to cut it.”

“You’re so sure you’re going to lose?” She says around a smile.

“I already told you, you can best anyone.” He looks more frustrated to the admission this time but the kind sincerity is there, creating a ruckus to her heart. 

Into the next round, she doesn’t find him. Not even a spare glance like he did her, and she wishes he wasn’t wearing a beanie so the sun can reflect his location.

They try a second round each, and somehow it becomes harder because they found optimal locations that are harder to navigate. So, they make a new rule that every minute they have to make a noise, any sort, so the other person knows which direction to go. 

Marinette is simple and says, ‘Marco’ and Adrien replies ‘Polo’ each time. It scares the life out of her because every time she hears him over a hedge and getting closer. 

There is one minute left, and, at the last shout, she heard him a few hedges over. She’s crouching around a corner, and yells as she’s supposed to, then right above her is victorious whispered response, “Got you.”

She whips her head up, intent on turning tail, but is waylaid by a tight grasp around her shoulders and a smooshing pressure of a male chest to her face. He lifts her into a tight hug and twirls them around, she throws curses at him in return. 

He releases her, patting her arms amicably. “Looks like this will have to be a draw, or I win.”

“Not if I find you faster.” She raises her chin. 

“But can you catch me?” He leers in her space, his confident, cocky character breathing down on her like dragon’s fire. She vows to slay the reptile.

It is not easy. Besides the fact she technically has nine minutes instead of ten, Adrien decides instead of shouting ‘Marco’, he yells flattery.

“I bet the sun rises just to see you smile!”

“I bet the wind blows just to feel how gorgeous your hair is!”

“I’m looking for directions to the quickest way to your heart!”

“I bet the flowers bloom just for you!”

“Is it hot in here or is it just you?”

She doesn’t have to respond, and some of them her hands are covering her face from the shame of it, but eventually she shouts at him for purposefully wanting to distract her. He doesn’t deny it, the rascal.

Adrien does a final shout—‘Is your dad a jewel thief? Because you're a real gem’—and Marinette jumps because she hears him around the corner. She proceeds with careful steps and Adrien is ambling with his hands in his pockets and grinning across an opposite corner. 

She has to take him by surprise since she’s so far. With a deep breath, she readies her stance and bolts across the grass, not worried that he might hear her. He turns his head, barely glancing and she panics. 

She tackles him.

He wasn’t ready for the impact, jutting forward and exclaiming ‘ack’ as he tries to find equilibrium. Marinette bounces against his back when they hit the ground and she’s cackling next to his ear, surprised at herself for the desperate pounce. He rolls her off, she slides to the cold, prickly grass next to him, and turns to her with a disbelieving expression, his hat askew and one eyelid squinted like a twitch. Then he sniggers; she sniggers back; then they’re laughing together.

They roll in the grass, clutching at each other’s arms and quaking for breath. When she can open her eyes without shaking with mirth, the occasional chuckle still in her chest, she looks upon him. He is staring forward, towards the half clear sky, a goofy grin on his face. She can admire a peacefulness to his manner, the gentle slope of his neck and his relaxed brow. His strong jawline curves wonderfully to his glee and a warm emotion sits in her throat.

He catches her staring and turns. Marinette can view the flecks of gold in his eyes; she never saw it before and wonders if she’s imagining it now. She suddenly can’t remember her prior emotions to him, being confused and unnerved because he’s strange. Now she’s confused and unnerved because he affects her and she doesn’t know what action to take. She’s scared, unsure, and sometimes doubts his sincerity.

Cold breath mingles into clouds between them and they gaze at each other in comfortable silence. Then Adrien moves and Marinette just…can’t. He alone shifts closer, the scent of grass and coconut fills her nose. Its like watching something inevitable happen from outside herself and she couldn’t stop it even if she wanted to. 

She closes her eyes in anticipation. A soft pressure lands on her head, solid and warm, and it's almost worse, so much worse, than what she expected, because it feels like contacting stardust.

Just their foreheads connected, his entire presence is like a force of nature—a force that can counter and twist her own. She is the ocean and he’s the wind creating ripples to her toes. He’s the sun and he’s casting light on her moon until she’s full to glowing. It’s as mushy as it gets, the sort of BS Hollywood sells you along with a bag of regret, but she’s buzzing and yearning for it. 

There’s a tug at her hair, a gentle swipe of a finger. She almost makes a move herself, opening her eyes and barely tilting her head towards his breath, then Adrien brings his hand between them. She jolts backwards to focus on it. 

“Ladybug,” he smiles.  The tiny bug, indeed a ladybug, is perched on his crooked pointer finger and crawling towards the tip. It must have been the thing in her hair. 

She giggles, the haze in her mind settling into her chest like a heavy burden. “In winter?” 

“You must have tremendous good luck.” He flashes his teeth and his eyes dart to her mouth for a second before retreating to getting on his elbows. Marinette licks her lips and sits up with him. “Shall I honor our bargain?” He digs into his pants pocket and takes out his phone. 

“Yeah, I’d like that.” She swipes at the tendrils of hair falling around her ears then takes out her phone to take his number. 

They call it a day after that. The journey back home on the metro is quiet but electrically charged by what Marinette is scared to acknowledge and, for unknown reason, what Adrien isn’t going to force. She doesn’t want to consider his motivations or true feelings, in case she’s encouraged to act on it, but she isn’t silly enough to not recognize his attraction to her. 

Men don’t flirt with you and let you monopolize half their day _for fun._

The sun is at its lowest point when they walk back into the apartments. Barry and Bruce are working and she narrows a short glare at both of them, not forgetting their chattery natures. They ride the elevator and Adrien doesn’t hesitate to walk her all the way back to her door. 

She turns towards him, struggling to keep eye contact. “I—um, thank you. For offering to take me out. Not many guys admit to their mistakes,” she chuckles. 

“The last thing I want is to lose your good opinion.” His gaze is soft and he quirks a brow. “You do have a good opinion, right?”

“You’re a roguish flirt, a selfish brat, and probably hoarding various lovers in your apartment. Is that good enough?” She intones. 

Adrien gives a blank stare, stock still and owlishly blinking. It doesn’t take long before she cracks a smile, failing to hold her jest, and it transforms his expression to something fond and sweet, and her heart won’t be able to take it. 

“I’ll talk to you later?” She closes off, turning towards the door to avoid his gaze and digs out her keys to unlock the door. 

“Yeah, of course. I look forward to it,” he breathes behind her. She cracks open her door but she doesn’t enter. She peeks towards the elevators and watches Adrien stroll away. When he presses for the elevator, he looks back and catches her lingering, making her jump and dart her eyes around like she wasn’t the most open book on the planet. Adrien just beams and waves, so she gives a feeble wave back before scurrying inside. 

Then for the second time in a week, after she walks around her home with lingering butterflies and doltish, trance-like smiles in their wake, she happens to look towards the balcony and the rest of her brain finally remembers to function.

“Well, fuck.”

 


	9. Chapter 9.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This entire chapter was an accident lol It's been a month (oops) and the overall chapter is 10k (oops) SO I'm splitting it into parts and I'll either update later in the day after editing or day by day.
> 
> Also, this wasn't able to be written until I watched Aggretsuko. Yeah, that cute red panda with an attitude helped write this. So thank her, maybe.
> 
> ALSO, as always, amazing betas are amazing. I don't know how they got through it all and I appreciate them to my grave.
> 
> I always write to improve, so comments and critiques are welcome! Please rip this to bits! Thank you!

* * *

 

When Marinette was younger and she faced a problem, she would compartmentalize the issue and obtain all the facts before taking action.

Well, generally.

If the problem was related to romance, she freaked out and pounced onto the first logical action her stubborn mind conjured. Which was usually facing the issue head on by shouting accusations without consideration of any other possibility or party involved.

If there was no action to take—meaning there was no one to blame but herself— she bought a pint of ice cream, swiped her favorite dessert from Papa, then proceeded to drown in Jagged Stone, Ultimate Mecha, or horror movies as she became a potato for twenty-four hours. It was an unhealthy mechanism for problem solving and probably a mediocre method for coping.

Ten years later and she can proudly say she still does all that shit.

Going to sleep after spending half the day with Adrien is a nightmare. She stares at the blue screen of her phone and his number with the anticipation of a nuclear strike. She types random greetings or terrible ice breakers, but deletes them instantly after because she knows she's being impulsive. It's like an itch that won't go away and if she scratches it she knows she'll regret it after. She wants to talk to him, she wants to know him more, but she knows it'll come at the price of pushing away Chat.

If she has to compare her mental situation between the two men, it's like having two major stars in single system but she's only equipped to handle one. Chat is the distant burning star, fading with time, and Adrien is the freakin' sun, gaining strength by remaining in her emotional orbit. It takes her until one AM to realize what's really happening and it soothes her nerves a little.

Adrien is filling Chat's place. She opened her heart, waiting for her Prince, and when someone unexpected showed a little interest, she latched to it like a leech. She doesn't  _like_ Adrien. She enjoys his company and would probably sleep with him once or twice— okay, for a couple weeks, he's fit— but it's nothing sustainable.

And he's attracted to her, too, she knows this much, but it's the same as she's feeling. Just casual attraction without heavy expectations, and by deepening their relationship she risks falling for someone who isn't ready to commit.

She rises out of bed at ten, her phone on the pillow next to her, and immediately prepares to trek to the store to begin her day of coping misery. She doesn't want to think about Adrien or Chat or anything related to romance. There is nothing to gain right now and she has other interests to accomplish. When's the last time she sketched a new design? It feels like forever.

On the way back from the market, two pints of Brownie Cookie Dough in a paper bag, her mobile rings and butterflies lift her lower stomach to her throat when she thinks it could be Adrien. Then she remembers he doesn't have her number because typing and deleting messages for three hours doesn't mean she sent any of them. She's a mess.

Her thumb punches the answer button without glancing at the caller ID. "Hello?"

"Marinette," answers Master Fu. "I'm aware it's your day off, but there's an emergency video call. Can you get to your computer?"

"An emergency?" Fashion emergencies are real but it's usually right before a runway when clothes can be ruined, or there was a transportation issue with the outfits. "I'm a block from my building; I can answer in ten minutes."

"That would be wonderful."

Her flats hit the concrete in fast claps as she hurries home, the bag of food jostling in her hand. When she makes it home, she opens her laptop, opening the appropriate applications, and accepts the video call.

What she doesn't expect is the head of Gabriel Agreste staring through the screen with his famous blasé expression of professionalism. She almost squeaks from the shock.

"Lovely to see you again, Miss Dupain-Cheng," Gabriel says.

"Y-yes! Always great to speak with you," she exclaims. She remembers vividly the first time she saw Gabriel, glowing with ethereal poise and confidence she could only dream of having herself. Every time they speak is one of the greatest days of her life.

"I apologize that this is short notice, but it is an urgent matter. A client in London has a theatre premiere Sunday and she is…unhappy with my designer's choices. I believe your particular tastes and work ethic would work well in the circumstances."

"I-I'm sorry what? You want me…I'd be representing your company. Unofficially. Are you sure—"

"I'm sure. I've seen your work, Miss Dupain-Cheng, many times. Fu also gives you a glowing recommendation. You are more than qualified. Do you accept?"

"Do I—Of course. Yes!" She blurts. He could tell her to live in the Galapagos for ten years for an Under the Sea runway and she'd probably say yes.

He sighs, relieved. "Very good. You will be provided with an escort that knows the client and the location well. He'll be able to answer any questions or assuage any doubts you have. The train leaves tonight; I'll email you all the information. That is all."

Marinette babbles a million thank yous before ending the call. She stares at the blinking time stamp wondering what reality she just woke into. Then she's logging into her email, and within a minute there's a bold new message from Gabriel Agreste Fashion, and she's jumping out of her couch and screaming.

"Have I ascended? Is this heaven? Gabriel Agreste asked for me! Twice!" She squeals. "What does this mean if I do good? Will he hire me for his team?

'Oh yes, Marinette. You are the most talented, hardworking, and may I say beautiful designer that's ever stepped into our building'.

"Why, Mr Agreste, you're such a flatterer."

'But it's true. Why, I should adopt you and hand over the company.'

'Oh, I could never! But since you offered…'" She giggles.

Her heart runs a million miles a minute, so fast that she has everything packed within an hour—though she double checks for another hour for quality assurance. The email says the train is scheduled to leave in four hours so she takes her time staring at the details of the outfit on her laptop and sketching new ideas.

This is what she needs to be doing: focusing on her career and expanding her passion for design. Running away from the apartment would do her good. Running out the country would do her better. Running away from her problems is totally healthy on occasions, she insists.

She is lounging on her couch, watching the tail end of random sitcoms to fill her last hour before leaving, and munching on her ice cream she refuses to waste, when there's a knock on her door. She bounces from her seat, spoon in mouth, to answer. For the second time, the last thing she expects is Adrien Agreste smiling for all the world at her doorstep like he belongs there. She uses the spoon as an anchor from hazily staring at him.

"Hey, Marinette." He looks a little sheepish as she just stares at him. "Did I catch you in the middle of something?"

"Um, no, not at all. I was just—" She suddenly loses thought at what she should be doing at all. The glasses. He's wearing  _those glasses again_. "I-I'm about to head out actually. Your father offered me a job! Totally last minute but I would never say no to an Agreste. W-well,  _the_  Agreste I mean. It's not like I'm under the spell of every Agreste out there." She laughs nervously. She thanks her stars she won't see him for a few days.

Adrien tilts his head. "You're doing a job for my father?" She nods, keeping her lips pinched. "It wouldn't happen to be in London, would it?"

"Um, yes! It is, in fact."

Adrien looks like he might laugh, a sort of deranged look in his eye as he looks to the left and covers his mouth with his hand. She swears she hears something along the lines of "fucked", which is not a good railway for her thoughts at all.

"Something wrong?" she asks.

"Ah, well, it seems… I am also on a job for my father. Something about escorting a drop dead gorgeous designer through London. Though I'm told she tackles unsuspecting models in hedge mazes, but I think I can handle it." He winks.

"Eh?" She squeaks. She can't seem to form a proper word to wrap around what he just said.

"Sorry. My old man isn't much for details. Looks like I'm in your hands for a few days."

'Fucked' seems like a great word right about now.

/

Their journey to London is a quiet one, mostly because Marinette fears saying something ridiculous or being so enamored with their conversations she falls deeper into her emotional rabbit hole. This was supposed to be a chance for escape, a chance for zen and career improvement. Now it's a trashy romance novel where they'll end up banging in a hotel room after too much erotic tension.

They take the Eurostar in business premier which is luxurious and glamorous. However their seats were directly facing each other and fighting a conversation was a test of strength and will that she has never faced in her entire life. It was like reaching the final boss fight in an RPG— the Sephiroth of Kingdom Hearts 2.

Luckily she had her sketchbook. And mobile. And food to stuff her face. And too much wine to help fall asleep. Two and a half hours of passive aggressively avoiding conversation without that awkward pause to signal her obvious intent to ignore him. She has definitely ascended.

Though she did crack once when it came to her attention that Adrien had no clue about the trip and was at her door. She asked why he was there and he promptly flushed and said,

"I just wanted to see you before I left."

And she shut the hell up right after that one, lest her heart is encouraged with ideas.

The trip in the taxi to the hotel is also silent. She never glances in Adrien's direction either. There are two expressions she would hate to witness: the first being the trademark model stare trying to sway her into a deep conversation about all their favorite things, or his face knowing exactly what she's doing and closing off resigned to it. She doesn't know how her nerves would react to the latter.

They walk through revolving doors to the hotel and she almost  _staggers_ at the sight of it. There is an enormous chandelier made of at least five hundred individual hanging lights at various heights to make a grand sphere in the center of the room. It's white and glistening in the well furnished lobby where there are over embellished chairs and expensive wool rugs with intricate designs. The air smelled of jasmine and if she was wearing heels, the reflective stone floor would echo the steps to the opposite side of the room. Surely they didn't need to be in a hotel this opulent for a weekend fix up?

Marinette receives a tap on her shoulder and turns.

"I got the key for our room," Adrien says, waving said keycard.

Marinette doesn't move. She doesn't make an expression. She refuses to accept the situation becoming that much worse.

Adrien stands absolutely serious, not at all questioning what came out of his mouth. They have a small stare off, neither moving from the spot.

Then he cracks first and digs into his coat to pulls out another keycard, holding a small smile. "Couldn't get you for a second?"

Marinette purses her lips, her mind relaxing like she accomplished the last hurdle in a 10k race and he was none the wiser. "Yes, because you're certainly not  _getting_  anything," she says as she swipes the keycard from his hand.

She turns on her heel and she can hear Adrien's guffaw as he follows behind. "So our princess has jokes."

"What do you mean?" She steps on the elevator and allows Adrien to press their floor number. "I just don't think you could rise to the occasion."

Adrien responds with a surprised cackle. "That is wrong on so many levels."

"You'd need a lift to get to my level."

"How about you give me a ride?"

Marinette chuckles. "You wouldn't know what buttons to press."

"I think I'm getting there." He gives a soft expression which throws her off and weakens her knees. The elevator dings and Marinette has to escape before her obvious flush is dark enough for him to notice.

They find their rooms directly across from each other and Marinette tries to bid her goodbyes but Adrien has a more leveled head.

"Um, tomorrow we're leaving for the studio around ten. Unless you need more time before we meet Lila?"

Marinette has to turn and Adrien is sending her that sweet sheepish face again. "That's perfect."

"Okay. Goodnight then, Marinette."

"Goodnight."

She slides the keycard and escapes beyond the room. She leans against the door, dropping her briefcase to the side, and counts backwards from ten. She made it three hours without falling over herself like a halfwit like she feared. She can do this. Now to focus on work.


	10. Chapter 9.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Part 2! I tend to add notes so, here's the artist inspiration for Chat's singing style which I should've given in chapter one lol
> 
> Reneé Dominique- La Vie En Rose
> 
> THANK YOU, MY AMAZING BETAS!
> 
> I always write to improve, so comments and critiques are welcome! Please rip this to bits! Thank you!

* * *

 

Marinette focuses on work until three in the morning and wakes up at seven from the coursing excitement. She should be tired and falling over but the opportunity to aggressively show her abilities in design has her blood singing.

She comes out of her room, duffle bag with her supplies hitched on her shoulder, and crosses to Adrien's door to knock on it. She has to knock three separate times before there is an answer. The door swings inward and Adrien is standing there rubbing his eye and hair a ruffled mess just like the day she messed with it at her apartment.

"Ah, Marinette. Sorry, did I sleep too long?" He yawns. Crap, he looks like a soft, pliable kitten.

"Nope! Not at all. I just had an urge for an early start. If you give me the address I can go on ahead and meet you later?" Distance from sex on a stick would be fantastic right about now.

Adrien is shaking his head before she even finishes. "No way. I'm your escort and I haven't earned your number yet, so if you get lost it might be forever."

"I'd text you if I was lost," she defends.

"After several hours without food and water, maybe," he teases and Marinette could see that possibility, and she looks to the ground, face warm. "I'll be ready in fifteen minutes. Just grab breakfast downstairs and I'll meet you."

She nods and looks back up. He's smirking playfully at her before closing the door. She stares in a daze, images of Adrien sending that smile more often and asking her to come inside to help him 'get ready'. She has to grab her cheeks and slap them twice before getting a handle on herself. Work. This weekend is work! No more flirting. He's not  _that_  attractive.

No, he  _is_  that attractive.

The food in the breakfast lounge is extensive and sublime. Pastries, fruits, omelettes, coffee, orange juice, yogurt parfait, and assorted meat. She didn't know if she wanted to pig out on the opportunity or have a sense of business-like dignity and take small portions. She takes the medium ground and only fills up two plates worth of food, since she suspects she won't eat once she starts altering the dress.

The omelette melts in her mouth in a warm silky texture that she unintentionally emits a small moan. If only she cooked more often then this wouldn't feel like a luxury. But the food is so good she can't even wallow in self depreciation and enjoys what she can.

She's savoring her parfait, the sweet smooth cream with crunchy bits of granola creating a heavenly mouth feel, when Adrien spots her at the table and sits next to her.

"Enjoying yourself?" He smiles. She can't imagine the sort of face she could be making for him to say that but she's plenty content to not care.

"Is it bad that I'm in heaven?" She takes another bite of parfait and sighs.

Adrien takes a cloth napkin from the table and catches the side of her lip. She freezes under the pressure. "Being as beautiful as you are, you take heaven wherever you go."

She scrunches her nose. "That was terrible."

He laughs.

"No girl would ever fall for that," she continues.

"You must be an angel then because you fell just for me."

"Oh god, get away from me," she laughs and shoves at his shoulder.

Adrien rubs at the spot in mock hurt before chuckling, his sparkling eyes draining her willpower to view him as  _only_  a friend, and rises to the buffet. She views him plucking a muffin off the table as she stands, taking her bag, and clears her plates to the proper receptacle.

They make their way out the front doors and head right as they begin to walk.

"Are we heading to a train?" Marinette asks.

"Nope, it's just a few blocks down," he cheerfully responds.

"You said I could get lost."

"You could. You might see a stray leather jacket and chase after it in fascination. You know the attention span of designers."

She slaps his shoulder again and he just sways slightly to the side. She's a bit grateful to not be walking alone, however, and takes comfort in exploring the roads as Adrien takes the lead.

They enter a business district with tall buildings and many clear glass windows. The stone work in the streets are less cobbled and lie in modern flat square patterns. Adrien turns to a three story building, which is as wide as her apartment times three, and pulls out a set of keys. Shadows of mannequins reflect through some windows with very interesting silhouettes and her blood is singing again. A definitive click of heavy locks sound as Adrien opens the door.

"This is a secondary studio. Father has a few of these because of how much his team needs to travel. Fabric is on the third floor, it should have everything you need, but I do have information for nearby fabric shops as well."

They walk through the front which is only lit by the morning sun. Adrien tells her to wait a moment as he switches on all the lights. Marinette breathes the crisp air of the studio, possibilities flooding her mind and ready to sprint to whichever station she chooses to work. The lights suddenly flood the room and she has to contain herself from sprinting to every mannequin that reveals its true outfit.

"What do you think?" Adrien asks, walking back towards her.

"It's a dream."

"Yeah. My old man has good taste at the end of the day." They stand there admiring the space for the moment, having their own thoughts about Gabriel Agreste.

"Where can I find the dress?"

"Ah, right!" Adrien jolts and looks around the room. "I think he told me it's on the second floor. I'll go get it for you."

"I appreciate it." She smiles at him and he jogs away.

The room is lined with five flat work stations of long tables across the room and she takes the one towards the middle. She's unpacking her sketchbook and supplies when she hears a ding to her right and has to look around for a good minute before Adrien is sliding out of a corridor she didn't notice before. She looks at him confused.

"Elevator," he explains and he's followed by a mannequin with an exquisite dress design which she runs to look at immediately.

She has obviously seen the pictures but touching and witnessing the garment made it even more outstanding. It was a textured tulle bodice with an asymmetrical wrap to the shoulder and a slight flair to the bottom skirt, made of a shiny smooth fabric, before flaring out in waves and a single open slit. The fabrics were a beautiful beige and orange blend without being overpowering with artistic flairs of bustled fabrics pinned around. She would love to wear this dress but she understands if it's not for everyone.

"Do you know a lot about the client? Lila Rossi?"

"Yeah." Adrien gives a dejected sigh. "I've met her several times for photo shoots when I was in my late teens. Sweet girl but a tad…clingy? She might have had a thing for me at the time."

"That's not arrogant at all."

"If a guy hung on you hand and foot, wouldn't you think he liked you a little?"

Marinette darts her eyes back to the bodice of the dress, pretending to observe the edges. "If she still likes you, it might make the job easier. The email mentioned she was difficult with the other designer."

"Oh, trust me, that's definitely part of the reason I'm here. You get to see my amazing acting skills."

"You don't think you'll actually like her? People grow up. And I'm sure she's attractive." She says this as she ignores the stupid clogging in her throat.

"How can I find time to like another girl when I'm giving you my full attention?" He winks at her. The negative feeling washes away as she fights not to encourage him by smiling too hard or jumping into his arms as she wants to. She really should stop talking to him all together.

Marinette goes to work for the next hour until Lila is supposed to show up. She has a few good sketches she hopes Lila will enjoy but seeing the material is changing her mind on what she can feasibly accomplish.

Adrien sets up in the table behind her and takes out notebooks, a thick text and papers of his own, and starts scribbling. She turns her head a few times, a bit curious to what he's doing but he tends to be looking at her when that happens and she looks away before he tries to say something cute.

At around ten-fifteen, noise filters inside from the streets when the front door is opened. A women in leggings, a circle skirt, scarf, glasses and a fitted long sleeve top comes through the door. Her hair is worn down with braids that wrap around the sides and clip in the back. She is barely taller than Marinette and has beautifully slim features. She takes off her glasses and smirks.

"If it isn't Adrien Agreste."

"Lila," Marinette hears a smile in his voice behind her before he stands and gives a traditional kiss on the cheek. "You look amazing."

"I have to; its part of my job. But coming from you, I'm flattered." She twirls a piece of her hair on her finger while swaying closer to him. "I'm really sorry about this whole…dress mess. I don't mean to be so picky but it  _is_  my first leading role movie premiere. I have to be selfish sometimes."

Adrien smooth talks her over about some complimentary bull and Marinette just waits on the side to be noticed. She doesn't mind his behavior in the slightest, in fact she's grateful because she was almost worried she was going to meet the devil of clients. Having to outsource to fix a client issue when Gabriel must have hoards on hand is not something she considers normal.

Once Lila is so buttered up she's hanging on Adrien's arm, she finally turns towards Marinette. "This must be the new designer. Thank you so so much for helping out. Me and the other girl just couldn't see eye to eye."

"I hope I can help any way I can," Marinette comments. "Can you tell me what you were looking for and maybe what you don't like about this? I already have a few ideas."

"Oh! I love her already," Lila snuggles up to Adrien's arm as she addresses him. Adrien is starting to look like a frozen Ken doll, smiles still and plastic. "The other girl just gabbed gabbed gabbed about what she knew about the latest fashion and other red carpet girls. I mean it's my dress. Who cares what everyone else thinks?

"I want cute, but sexy. Unique, but not over the top. And definitely orange. I play a fox heroine in the film and I want to give tribute."

"And what you don't like?" Marinette asks.

"It's too princess. I'm a badass in the film, I want to look like a badass."

"But you still want it a bit cute? Do you mean modest, wavy skirt, embellishments…?"

"If it looks cute on me then I'll know right?"

Marinette is already foreseeing a problem. "How about I show you my sketches?"

Marinette passes over her sketchbook that has at least ten options so far. She went as far in range as she could think of, and there has to be aspects—

"Mmm, I don't think so darling."

"Oh. Not even some details?"

"If you can't draw it all together how am I supposed to know? You're the designer, that should be simple."

I'm sorry I didn't realize I was trained in mind reading. "Do you have an Instagram, Lila?"

"Of course! Oh I should show you this really cute latte art from a cafe just down the road. It's to die for."

Marinette just smiles and nods, pretending to be interested as she possibly can as Lila takes out her phone. She thinks she has an idea of why Lila is so difficult and it's an easy fix if she takes a roundabout approach.

Adrien is hovering on standby, maybe waiting for Lila to say something rude or ask for an impossible request. He catches Marinette's eye and she winks back, indicating she's got it covered. He sends a sweet smile and ducks his head. Shit, why does she keep wanting to interact with him? He probably took that more flirtatious than placating. Gosh, she's an idiot.

Lila finally pulls up her Instagram and she's pointing at the Latte art but Marinette is looking for all her full body photos. She pauses Lila and points at a few, "Did you like all these outfits you wore?"

"Of course. I'm a walking icon, anything I wear means it's Rossi approved." She flips her hair with a head whip.

"Is it possible if I took one of these outfits as inspiration for ideas, it'll be close to something you like?"

"Hm, maybe."

She'll take it. She asks for fifteen minutes and she'll have several ideas and sends Lila to be entertained by Adrien. Apparently there's a lounge upstairs and he takes her there which gives her some beloved silence.

Marinette would tell people designing is in her blood. She's always had an obsession for attention to details and pushing the boundaries for something amazing. She doesn't want to mess this up for Agreste but she most definitely takes this as a mission for herself, as if making this celebrity client happy will open doors to her creativity she hasn't explored yet. So she sketches like a mad woman.

She's happy with her ideas after five minutes instead of fifteen and takes great labors to add enough details that Lila couldn't possibly complain that it isn't clear enough. When she's done she releases her pencil like a mic drop and flexes her hands several times with a grin. She gathers her sketchbook to run upstairs rather than call them down; she would prefer to get a drink at the lounge anyhow.

Upstairs widens out similarly as downstairs but instead of long tables there are stations of sewing machines, sergers, and racks of clothing. To the very right there's a large screen separating a section of the room and she can see the tail end of a couch so that must be the lounge. There's giggling from Lila and some mumbled response from Adrien, which sounds nervous.

Adrien dated Chloe of all people and broke up with her. And  _lived._ Though this is a job for his father, she almost wonders if he'll go farther than needed because he's technically single and it won't mean anything. She shouts before she passes the screen just in case.

"Hey, I'm done. Lila do you—"

Marinette cuts off because Lila is  _draped_ on Adrien, all her curves pressing against him and a hand snaking underneath his shirt, and Adrien is barely holding himself up on his elbow. They're both on the couch and what alarms Marinette the most is that she was positive they were making out for a second if not for Adrien's other hand raised and poised directly in front of his mouth to stop from the attack.

A pang hits her chest, which she's surprised to feel at all because she has no right, but the irritation at this woman throwing herself at Adrien overshadows that. Females harassing males in a business environment, actually  _any_  environment, is  _not_ okay in her book. Adrien catches her eyes as she's ready to drag Lila through a few thousand sewing pins, and he's instantly throwing Lila backwards. Lila just laughs.

"Aw, come on. I was just messing around. Adrien and I have been apart for so long, you see."

Marinette counts backwards from ten. "I understand. None of my business, of course." She tries to smile around it; there might be a small tick on her forehead that won't go away, but that's alright. She sits directly between then, sweet smile plastered, and opens her sketchbook for Lila to view.

She doesn't look at Adrien because she doesn't want to call attention to him again. Lila needs to have her business done and get the hell out. Lila, to Marinette's relief, shrieks excitement.

"This one! It has to be this one! Oh I knew I would like you…I didn't even get your name." Marinette tells her. "Well, now that you've show this to me, I'm expecting it. My premiere is tomorrow night and it can be dropped off at any time."

Marinette won't lie that after getting more information on Lila's measurements and approving the fabric, she rushed Lila out of there. She only looked at Adrien once and it was to tell him to stay in the lounge. It was to prevent anything from happening but he made a face like she slapped him and she almost wanted to stop to talk but it wasn't the best time. Lila tried to ask to say goodbye to him but Marinette made up a lie about taking a call with his father and kicked her to the curb.

She bounced down the street in her boots and Marinette looked to the ceiling for strength. She went back to her duffle and checked the time. Almost twelve. Over twenty-four hours to make it work, if she didn't sleep. Which she doubt she would, and she didn't mind.

Marinette looks to the stairs again and steels herself to walk back to the lounge. The air is more oppressive and nerve wracking than before though she's positive it's in her head. She turns the corner and Adrien is still on the couch, hunching over with his elbow on his knee and head in his hand. He's glaring at a water bottle on the table like it offended his entire family so Marinette takes a careful seat next to him, coughing lightly.

He whips his head towards her, straightening up, but stays silent.

"Hey. You okay?" She asks.

"I-Yeah. I'm fine." He darts a look down before looking up again. "It wasn't what you thought it was."

"She wasn't attacking you?" Marinette raises her brow.

He looked surprised. "You knew that?"

"It definitely wasn't the other way around from your karate stance." He huffs a relieved laugh and sags into the couch. "What did you think I saw?"

He flushed. "It's not like I have a good repertoire with you so far. Between Chloe and what I did at the shoot, I thought you thought I would just— but I wouldn't. I meant what I said. You have my full attention."

The declaration was too much. It made her hope, it made her consider he liked her more than just attraction and a casual relationship. That maybe he was waiting for her somehow, would deny other women until she made a move, and building up to something amazing and long and warm. But this was all assumption and she understands Adrien as well as she did the first day she met him. She doesn't know what he's thinking and for all she knows, he's talking about a different woman all together. Now she just wants this conversation to end.

"Okay. Good. I'm just…going to start working. I'll be blasting music because that's how I work best, if that's alright."

He waves her away. "This is your space for the weekend. I'll stay out of your way." He smiles, though its weak and doesn't hit his eyes.

Most of the day blows over after that. Adrien does stay out of her way, actually she's surprised he stays behind in the studio. He remains at the workstation behind her own, scribbling away at whatever work he has, and she hums and cuts fabric, rearranging what she can. She goes to the third floor to find appropriate fabric and cuts extra patterns. Pattern, pin, sew, serge, pattern, pin, sew, hem.

She never would have noticed it was night, running around as she was, if not for Adrien helping her from the shadows. One minute she realizes she's almost out of water and a fresh bottle appears next to her. She forgets a pair of scissors downstairs and Adrien is already rushing to bring it to her. Her stomach rumbles and she's ready to push through it but a moment later there's a plate of sushi rolls at the end of her table. She looks back at Adrien about that one.

"Small bites, won't make a mess, and good protein," he explained simply.

She didn't even notice him leave, then again she can't even keep track of herself. She picks up the already unwrapped and separated chopsticks, and pops a roll into her mouth. "And delicious," she adds back.

Adrien just smiles down at his papers, and she decides it's a good moment to take a break. She places the rolls in front of her and gets as comfortable as she can on a work stool.

"What are you working on?" She finally asks.

Adrien looks up, surprised, and takes in her posture and position of the plate. "Tutoring work. Physics, actually."

"Oh, wow." She pops another roll into her mouth to prevent from gapping too much. "I didn't expect that."

"Model can be smart man, too," he jests.

Marinette covers her mouth as she almost laughs out some rice. "I didn't mean it like that." She tries to think of how to explain her surprise. "Or maybe I did. You just exert a lot of charm. Ringmaster is a more plausible option."

"You think I'm charming?" He grins obnoxiously.

"I also think your jokes are terrible." She grins back.

He waves it away before crossing his arms and leaning back on the edge of his stool.

"I've always loved it. It's hard to explain," Adrien continues. "Calculating energy, playing with sound waves, and the magnetic field. Don't ever get me started on the magnetic field, I'll never shut up." He laughs. "Numbers, forces, laws. The endless possibilities and variables in our universe have always been fascinating. It's fun to wonder. It fun to struggle. I went up to my Masters in America, and now… I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with it. I just know I can't let it go."

The air between them shifts. A sort of clarity, a fog clearing, and Marinette can see Adrien for the first time— glittering with passion and polished to greater depth. And she relates to him. A sort of calm humming underneath her skin like finding a kindred spirit. Physics for him is fashion for her, and he embraces it even with uncertainty.

He revealed something that was natural to him, spoke it with a big heart and pride, and she loved it instantly.

"That's amazing," she says.

"Yeah?" That small sheepish smile builds. "Not...intimidating?"

"How is that intimidating?"

Adrien looks amused. "You would be the one to say that. It's just— a lot of people found my hobbies, interests, education, I guess, intimidating. I was good at too much. But I was raised an Agreste and an Agreste is independent, talented, and the best at everything we set our minds to— according to father. But I later found out it's nothing but a reason for people to distance themselves. Like meeting a god they were unworthy to walk besides." He says this with nonchalance, a long standing acceptance.

"Sounds lonely."

"At times." He twiddles with the pen in his hands. "But I think I get it. Now that I know you."

Marinette startles, brows raised. "W-what? Me? Oh no, my resume is nothing close to a master physicist."

"Pro Ultimate Mecha gamer, amazing fashion designer, great dancer, pro tackler-" Marinette swears he's never going to let her live that down "-and an amazing singer. And I've only know you a couple weeks."

"How do you know I even sing?" Marinette raises her brow.

He almost flings his pencil off the table as he's twirling it but fumbles to catch it. "Oh-um, you hum when you work. You didn't notice?"

She did but it was so low she doubted he heard her. "Thanks," she says for a lack of other words. She twists her bottom lip and bites it, soaking in the praise. "Well, I couldn't worship you anyway. Your head would get bigger."

He sends an amused scoff. "Excuse me? I'm an angel of humility. And my head is a spectacularly attractive size."

"I'm waiting for the dick joke, really. That's how bad you are."

They laugh and fall into a long stream of conversation throughout the night as Marinette continues to work.

She tells him about her parents owning a bakery and he adds it to her resume because he's smitten for sweets and begs that she make something for him one day. He tells her about his time in America earning his degree, raising money for charities his friends were passionate to point out, and volunteering for food pantries on the weekends. He loved talking to people from lives vastly different from his own, that it gave him perspective of his childhood with a single father- an enormously rich single father.

The atmosphere ripples to calm, a steady rhythm as they intermediately work on their respective jobs. It's sort of domestic, the sort two close adults share when they live together— and Marinette has to halt her thoughts from going too far in that respect. She isn't even supposed to be talking with him but the fuzzy, drunkenness of listening to Adrien's past and his passions twists her insides to a weak willed pool noodle.

When it becomes too late, Adrien has to walk upstairs and tap her shoulder as she's hand sewing and insist they carry on tomorrow.

"No, no I can—" she yawns "—sleep on the couch when I'm tired. I can finish this tonight and sleep in the morning."

"Marinette," Adrien sighs. "I will carry you out of here if I have to."

"No, you wouldn't," she laughs. Then he remains stern in front of her, brow raised and arms crossed like an angry dad and she's not so sure. "You wouldn't dare."

"Though you got me in the tackle-"

"Could you stop mentioning that," she flushes.

"—It'd be like carrying a bag of feathers, princess."

Marinette calls his bluff and turns back to the mannequin to continue sewing. The shuffle of Adrien's steps echoes away from her and she inwardly congratulates her victory. Five minutes later she can hear him behind her again and she continues ignoring him until her knees are knocked out and she's fumbling backwards into a pair of arms, squealing along the way.

"Wha-Hey! What are you doing?"

"We're heading in for the night. Obviously." Adrien says with an expression which makes her seems like the idiot for squealing about and being manhandled. He's carrying her bridal style and walks to the side corridor. "And don't squirm so much. I'm carrying your bag and I'm not sure what's in it."

"Adrien, this is stupid. I can walk." He dips slightly to hit the elevator button and Marinette has to lift her arms around his neck in fear of falling.

"I dunno, I kinda like having you in my arms. Been a long time dream of mine."

Marinette flushes, the solid warmth of his chest and arms squeezing around her. "Hardy-har."

"I can't imagine why you think I'm joking. Why do you think I'm always calling you 'princess'?" He smiles winningly.

She scoffs. "Do you expect a token of favor for your knightly deed of hauling me down the street like a stubborn royal lass?"

"I'm not in it for the favors, little lady."

"Ok, now you're a cowboy and I'm too tired to contradict you."

"Oh, so you're tired now?"

"Shut up."

The walk isn't too bad but she yawns so much, puffing cold air like a dragon, that she sways to lay on his chest, not giving a damn anymore, and Adrien just takes the opportunity to tighten his arms around her shoulders to steady the walk. He doesn't let go until they're before her room door and she's released to dig into her pocket for the keycard.

"I'm not thanking you," Marinette says.

"Like I said, I don't do it for the favors," Adrien sighs.

"Then what do you do it for?"

"Because I care. Obviously."

She doesn't know if it's sleep deprivation or the lights in the hall but he looks very inviting then. Like hearts and dazzling rainbows plastered on a haunted mansion to invite her forward. She knows it's dangerous territory and she's in the middle of a job, but she can't stop taking that extra step towards him, zeroing on his parted lips.

Adrien takes a step back and beelines to his door. Marinette blinks at the air next to her for a second. He jumped away.

"I'll see you in the morning, Marinette. Just knock on my door." He nods to her, eyes blazing. She confusedly nods back. He can't seem to get his keycard in fast enough and he disappears behind his door.

What the hell? If Adrien's history is anything to go by, he seems ignorant of women, but there's no way a man jumps away from a female clearly about to pounce you while at a hotel. She almost wants to revive her theory he's gay with Chat Noir, because  _he cares_? Like a  _friendly_  caring?

She sighs and straightens herself out. It's probably for the best anyway. She said she shouldn't talk to him, let alone get in bed with him because the lighting was right and dammit if she isn't falling for him a bit. Just a bit though.

She slides her keycard and urges herself to have a good night sleep.


	11. Chapter 9.3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Part 3! I mentally sobbed getting to this point, just so everyone knows. Cause its smooth sailing from this point fellas. SMOOTH SAILING.
> 
> THANK YOU, BETAS!
> 
> I always write to improve, so comments and critiques are welcome! Please rip this to bits! Thank you!

* * *

 

Marinette sleeps fantastically in her bed made of clouds and sunlight. She wakes to soft honey rays of light filtering through her hotel window, hinting that she may have overslept. The London skyline of muted blues and diverse architecture calls to her creative musings, and she stretches towards the ceiling, an invigoration building into her veins.

She looks to her phone and it's nine o' clock, which is better than she imagines. She swings out of bed, hair disheveled and attacking her eyes, which she blows away, then heads to the restroom. As she's washing her face there's a knock on the front door. She combs through her hair a few swipes, getting tangled along the way, and answers.

Adrien is standing there moderately refreshed except for the subtle grey to his pallor. He gawks at her for a moment- taking in her tank top, sleep shorts, and bed head- then a pink hits his cheeks, and Marinette doesn't understand it  _at all_.

He must be gay or a schoolboy virgin because who flushes to a disheveled female like they've never witnessed one before?

"Morning?" She says.

"I was—yeah, hey. Good morning. I was checking if you were awake," he responds.

"I am. A little later than I wanted but the bed was too comfortable. I should send a complaint."

"I've—um, your hair is just…" He reaches forward and she feels a slight tug going backwards. She remembers why she doesn't wear her hair down again, she tends to get cow licks sticking out of her head if she combs it wrong. Maybe he was flushing because she's an embarrassing mess.

"Oh, um thanks." She runs her hands through her hair quickly again, as if Adrien didn't just fix it, and he snickers after she does it four times. "What?"

"You made it worse."

Marinette pouts at the door frame having nothing to really be angry at.

"Want me to fix it?" Adrien tentatively asks.

Now Marinette is the one flushing as she remembers the last time he offered. Well, more like bargained. Actually, he cheated.

She has to admit she was excited for the day he could administer his hair magic again; especially when she's so hopeless at it. Plus she loves the way his hand weaves through her hair, a seemingly innocent action, that's electric and inviting and warm.

Though on principle she doesn't want to seem totally incompetent and inviting him inside is a treacherous action towards her feelings. She already tried kissing him last night and look how that ended up. She has to stay strong, she has to keep to her convictions, she is stronger than these fleeting flurries of butterflies in her stomach and those pink hearts blinding her eyes.

"…Yes, please." She mumbles.

She's weak. She takes it back; she's so very abundantly _weak_.

His gleeful expression almost overshadows his gray pallor before she steps aside to invite him in. When he sits on the bed she realizes the mistimed invite.

"Oh, um, I still need to shower and…everything. Do you mind waiting a bit? I'll be out in a second."

Adrien shrugs and goes to sit by the small table next to the window and finds the remote to the television. Marinette just takes her entire bag to the bathroom so she doesn't have to run out naked to get anything. Though she could learn a few things if the temptation is given and Adrien does nothing…nope, that's stupid. Shower. Now.

It takes her no time, her hair up in a messy bun to prevent getting wet. When she dresses, she wears a comfortable pinafore with thick tights, long sleeves, and flats. She brushes her teeth and folds everything away before going out. She has to turn back to get her hair and makeup bag, even though Adrien can keep hair afloat with the power of optimism, apparently.

When she's out, Adrien jumps from his chair and ushers Marinette to replace herself in the seat. She does, placing the bag on the table, and instructs him to use the contents freely. She releases her bun and Adrien's hands weave smoothly from the base of the head to the tips and she's closing her eyes, trying to focus on suppressing her reactions from that of a love starved kitten.

"How did you learn to do hair anyway?" She asks.

Adrien hums. "I thought about growing out my hair a few times. I wanted to practice braiding, girls usually have long hair..." he trails off.

"Sounds like an excuse to flirt with girls."

"You know, they all said the same thing after I asked them out."

Marinette chuckles. "Charming."

"Oh like you didn't ask men to model for you as an opening line?"

"Um, no. I don't need bad pick up lines to tell a guy I'm interested."

"Are you sure? You seem pretty single now."

"I think if I like someone they'd know in an instant." She says. "I always stumble over my words and say the wrong things. Alya says whenever I make eye contact with them I basically cease to function as a human."

Adrien chuckles but it seems stilted and awkward. "Really? That's interesting."

There's a haunting silence after that and Marinette feels like she said something utterly stupid. "Unless they're a dense brick then I guess I'd have to take a more direct approach."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, serenading to them under the moonlight or buy them a large cheese pizza."

"Wait, what? Why pizza?"

"'Cause it's cheesy."

She can feel Adrien let go of her hair and  _wheeze._ She just sits as still as she can and try not to feel too self satisfied. His laughs are muffled so he's probably covering his face and she almost cracks.

When he picks up her hair again he says, "It's a good thing you don't use pick up lines because I think I would've just fallen for you."

Marinette doesn't say anything to that, or rather she doesn't get the chance when a red shimmer hits the corner of her eye and Adrien is holding  _that clip_. She didn't even realize she packed it.

He doesn't say anything, of course he doesn't, but she can feel the definitive clip on the side of her head, holding up a new style of braids, his hand lingering there for longer than needed. She clenches her jaw, flexing and fighting anticipation of something, anything, he might do or say. Is he flattered, happy, awkward, regretful?

In spite of her buzzing thoughts, Adrien just tells her he's done and says he will meet her downstairs. He closes the door in an indifferent motion and she's left with cotton in her mouth.

/

The rest of the day runs quickly. Marinette goes hardwire into finishing the dress, never straying her eyes from her work, and it's completed by late afternoon to drop off at Lila's home.

The dress is two toned, a gradient from white to orange. Marinette changed the bodice pattern under the tulle so there were cutouts with hints of skin but still elegant and tasteful. There were waves of tulle coming out of a flared bow in the back of the skirt which gave the effect of flowing tails. Then she added volume to the sides of the skirt and widened the slit in the middle and added white tulle for some coverage to her legs.

Lila squeals at the changes, complaining that her mascara will be smudged from joy, but shakes Marinette's hand and then has the gaul to go in for a squeeze on Adrien. Marinette definitely doesn't imagine skewering her like a halloween pumpkin. Then Adrien starts matching Lila's compliments and overly commending her work on the dress, including saying 'his father couldn't have done better', which makes her thrilled and a bit swoony.

They're about to enter the cab to go back to the hotel when Marinette blurts, "We should celebrate."

Adrien looks at her, surprised.

"We have time?" She adds.

"Yeah?" Adrien smiles. "What did you have in mind? I know London pretty well."

"Well, I don't want to do anything big. Just, something small, I guess?" Gosh, why did she suggest anything at all.

Adrien just looks pensive then his eyes light up. "I know the perfect place. Do you drink?" She nods and he ushers her into the cab while calling out, "Drivers on Brown Street."

They end up in another business district on the opposite side of the city. It's quiet on the streets and there's less character to the buildings. Everything is set up gray, symmetrical, and smells like piles of fresh white paper. They head down a narrow side street with one bright green hedge that runs parallel to the walls and contrasts the bleak colors.

There is one large brown double door at the end of the corridor and it feels like Adrien is serving her up to a well-to-do mob boss. There is a bright neon sign glowing over the door which says, "Drivers". Adrien yanks at the door, instead of doing a seedy secret knock, as she half expects, and she walks inside.

Inside is gorgeous. It's a large indoor venue, bright with natural fluorescents, hints of pink and purple to add contrast, and glowing green on the ground. It takes her a moment to realize that bright green is grass and its indoor golf. Indoor  _crazy_  golf.

"Surprised?" Adrien asks.

"In little words, yes," she giggles.

"I know the owners and we're just here for drinks, because they make the best. Plus I love the atmosphere." Adrien turns his head towards the bar and smiles. "Ah, there she is."

There is a high pitched squeal in the direction of Adrien's gesture and a bouncing blonde female is wrestling through the large crowd.

"Adrien! Is that really you? Come here." She pounces into a hug and Adrien wraps her in his arms. She's so tiny half her body disappears.

"I'm wonderful, Rose. We were just thinking about some drinks and you were the first to come to mind."

"Ooh, finally settling down, are you? She's so gorgeous by the way, and probably too good for you." She winks at him then turns to Marinette. "Any friend of Adrien is a good friend of mine." She hugs Marinette in an instant.

"Oh, uh…" Marinette chuckles and returns the friendly gesture, a bit disorientated by the fast welcome.

"Let me get you the best table." Rose weaves back through the crowd, lost to Marinette's eye within seconds. Luckily Adrien is tall and Rose is dressed pink from shirt to shoes or she might have lost them both in the bustle of the crowd.

They walk to a winding stairwell leading to the second floor which is lined with square tables, circular two seaters, and even a couple booths. The entire second floor is surrounded by square pillars, each five inches wide and consecutively three inches apart. It was similar to looking at vertical window shades of wood so guests could view the golf course below.

Rose is talking to two men sitting at a circular high stool, everyone smiling and making small friendly gestures. They rise and take their drinks to the opposite end of the room by the time Adrien and Marinette catch up.

"Such a wonderful couple, those two. They come in every two weeks for a game or a drink, so I've known them for ages," she explains. "So, best seats in the house because its private, you can see just about the entire factory, and there's so many damn voices around, no one cares what you're talking about," she winks. Wow, this girl is a bundle of chipper sweetness.

"It's amazing, thank you," Adrien beams.

"Now, did you have drinks in mind or do you want a surprise because I already have two in mind." She looks so happy and ready to burst that Marinette is loathe to be specific.

"I love a good surprise," Marinette says.

"I love  _you_. I love her, keep her," Rose points at Adrien like a direct order. "I'll be back in two shakes!"

"How did you two meet?" Marinette chuckles.

"I met her girlfriend first, actually," he explains. "Juleka. We were in a dance class together, she wasn't a natural but she wanted to take her girlfriend out and thought the course was a good opportunity. I took her under my wing and we became close after that." He shrugs. "Of course they moved to London together and I continued my education but I've never been too out of touch."

"Took her under your wing. Even you know you're a master at dancing."

"Just because I said you're fantastic doesn't mean I'm not a smidge better."

Marinette shakes her head at him. They both turn to look down below at the golf course, friends and couples laughing as they attempt the crazy obstacles. It just makes Marinette think about their relationship more and what could happen once she gets back home.

"Hey, I think that's my father's new spring leather collection," Adrien says. Marinette bolts up from her seat and stretches across the table in the direction Adrien is pointing.

"Oh my god, where? He has  _another_  collection? How does he have the time? Of course he has the time, he's so good he's almost a myth. I don't  _see_  them. Adrien you're going to have to take me down there right now if I missed—" A puff of air hits the side of her cheek and she looks to the right to see Adrien's eyes crinkled and mouth struggling to repress a smile.

"You know, I was joking when I said you would get lost to a leather jacket, but now…"

"You cheeky fox," she scoffs and tries to shove his face away but he grabs her wrist then weaves their hands together, like the most casual motion in the world. The tingling between their fingers short circuits her brain and her entire body vibrates.

"I always want to tease you a little, but then you go and make it so easy I just want to do it more," he grins. His face is so close she can count the sparkles in his teeth but her body is a bit more preoccupied basking in the sparks in her hand and closing the space. She feels a bit breathless.

"Maybe you should…not."

"Not what?"

God dammit if she doesn't remember. She just knows it would be stupid to not kiss him when he's so close. The air feels thin enough that mouth to mouth restitution is probably necessary.

She tilts her head and gravitates towards his lips. She's the only one moving at first, which is fine she just wants a taste, this one time at least, but she swears he moves with her at the last inch.

"Shots!" The high pitch of Rose cuts between them. Marinette flinches back, self conscious of their obvious intentions and carefully untangles their hands. Great, another one ruined.

There are two colorful Cocktail glasses dangling from Rose's hands and raised towards them. Marinette takes hers, an interesting green concoction with black at the bottom, like oil. She looks to Adrien and he is holding his, which is red with the same black oil, and looking a tad disgruntled about it. She rejoices and hopes at the reason.

"I made it especially for you two. Try it, try it," Rose encourages.

Marinette looks to Adrien until they catch eyes then gives a tiny toast which relaxes his frown to a smile and he returns the gesture. The drink goes down smooth, fruitier than she expected, but a definite burn after several seconds. Then her eyes are burning and she shakes her head and whoops.

"That has a kick," she says.

"When I was in Paris with Juleka, we went to this adorable ice cream stand that gave you true love with the colors of your dessert. I thought I'd try a hand at something similar. What do you think?"

"I'd definitely think I was in love with a few people after a couple of those."

"Boba infused vodka. Ingenious, right? I mean the kick might be a few other things but I can't reveal my secrets with other customers around."

"Basically if you want to get wasted, Rose and Juleka are your girls to call," Adrien chimes

"Adrien would know," Rose teases. "You should've seen him when he flew over during spring break of his Masters. He was a walking distillery."

Rose continues to elaborate on many embarrassments of Adrien from college and visiting her establishment. Marinette was glad to hear all of them, from getting drunk, to pranking shitty professors at the university, and accidentally sending a nude photo to a group chat with the subtitle 'Who's ready to eat?'—he refuses to elaborate on how it was on his phone in the first place.

She orders two more drinks from Rose; Juleka comes up to meet them around the second one and adds to the pile of old college stories which adds stitches to Marinette's sides throughout the night. Adrien just sits there pouting and blushing and it's almost sad so Marinette pats his hands a few times to make him feel better. He always smiles afterwards and she suspects he keeps pouting so she's holding his hand.

/

After getting buzzed before sun down—which Marinette rarely does, if ever—their journey home is the same as they arrived. Quiet. But it's a buzzing soft quietness. Reflective on Marinette's part as she wonders if she'll happen to jump Adrien if he walks her to her door or maybe she'll have a mental breakdown of epic proportions as she realizes she's utterly and truly fucked because she  _likes_  Adrien.

His goofy grins, his caring nature, his obnoxious flirtatious quips, and his sweet personality as a whole. Then there's the electric sexuality. She can't ignore that one as much as she tries. She would've been fine with a one night stand at some point, though living in the same building and working for his father occasionally is very awkward, but now…

She hopes her mind cools as they get closer to the apartments, like maybe the alcohol is making her emotions more intense than they truly are, but that doesn't happen at all. Not when he's helping carry her luggage, not when he's a hair's breadth from her in the elevator, and not when they're waiting at her door.

They stand there a moment, each making sheepish sort of expressions, clearly not knowing where to take the next step— if they should even need to take a step. Eventually it's such awkward suffering, Marinette just digs into her duffle and pulls out her keys to open the door. With the door cracked she turns to say, 'goodbye and thanks', but Adrien stops her, gently touching her wrist. She waits, expectant.

He looks conflicted, frustrated. Eyes wild in a new light that's almost broken and she wants to soothe him. "This weekend did it—well, um, do you—" He stares at her like some telepathy she should understand and waiting for her to catch on.

She has an idea, a hope, an inkling, but she hesitates too long. He sighs when he can't seem to find the words or perhaps she had none.

"Have a good night, Marinette." He leans close, a satisfiable close that crackles in the air and plays many possible scenes in her head. He kisses her cheek, a warm and sweet pressure, before walking away.

And that's it.

Her cheek quickly runs cold and watching his back walk away, a slight slope to his shoulders and his gait more of a reluctant shuffle, ignites a flame in her gut.

"Adrien!"

He turns around after just pressing the elevator button. It dings as she's already running towards him; then she reaches forward with both hands to grab his shirt and drag him down. Marinette's lips find his-determined, hungry,  _hoping_ \- and he kisses back with the same fire. No hesitation, no dodging, no assumptions. He takes everything she offers him and devours her in turn.

He closes the gap between them within milliseconds, lifting Marinette into his arms and she wraps her arms around his shoulders and burns.


	12. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'd like to thank my amazing support betas/good friends, all the amazing comments made by lovely and considerate people which helped me get to the end, all the FANTASMICAL critiques that got my head in a better place to write this, and all the music that helped inspire the story as well.
> 
> I always write to improve, so comments and critiques are welcome! Please rip this to bits! Thank you!

* * *

 

He tastes…so human.

She expected honey, coconut, or peaches from the scents usually coming off him, but all she gets is pure plush skin that drives her senses wild.

He tangles a hand through her hair, bunching and gripping the nape of her neck, then lowers his other hand around her waist, tugging her closer like a first breath. It feels like he's absorbing her, burning her into him, and she tugs him tight in turn, not at all objected to the idea.

Her head is a tidal wave and she barely discerns the gasping and insistent moans coming out of her mouth if not for the rumbling groans Adrien returns each time. The noise reverberates down between her thighs and Marinette is so entwined with him she can't stop being bold. He wants her. He  _wants_ her and her door is right there.

She has to pull back. He follows her lips, eyes hooded and hazy like he was drunk off of her, but she places a hand on his chest.

"Take me inside." She holds his gaze and his eyes seem to clear a little. The cold space between them settles like a void and she's fighting to keep the small distance, so she whispers insistently, "Please, take me."

He groans, "You have no idea what you're doing to me." He kisses her nose and lowers her to the ground.

Their belongings are practically tossed in the rush to get into the apartment. Marinette is following behind and shuts the door with a click, the darkness of the apartment shrouding them. Adrien faces her and holds her hand to raise to his lips and starts burning sensual kisses where there is exposed skin. "What do you want? Anything, and I'd give it to you."

A soft surge of power comes over her with those words. A confidence she wasn't sure of until she took the step. "Anything?" She purrs and leans into the minimal space between them until their chests are touching. "That's dangerous."

"I trust you," he admits. His hands move to dive under her coat and coaxes it off of her. "Say it to me, however. Now that's truly dangerous."

She smiles and mimics Adrien's motion to remove his coat then gives into her impulse to caress his exposed neck and face. It's so normal yet touching him is something she never wants to stop doing. "What would you make me do?" She whispers. She starts kicking off her shoes and Adrien follows suit.

"I would want you to let me in. Completely—" he crouches and hooks his hands behind her thighs "—utterly—" he lifts her up so her legs wrap around his waist "—and without reservation. Until the rest of the world doesn't exist."

"So you want to be inside me?" A wanton crack hits her voice.

"I'd want you to surrender yourself," he corrects. "To be my constant, the only variable, the answer to every question. When that happens, I know I earned you the way you deserve."

He means it. His shines with conviction and he stares at her as he's always had and she finally knows why it's always unnerved her. Because he cares, because he thinks she's amazing, because he respects her. Her blood sings.

"Kiss me." And they shut up for a good five minutes.

The kisses are slower than before— sensual, exploring, savoring. He kisses her like he's memorizing her, or teasing her as she keeps wanting more each second. He'll occasionally have their lips brushing each other, parted and rubbing against her own in a sparking friction, and she's always chasing him but he pulls back.

"Stop being an ass," she chuckles.

"But I like the thrill of you chasing me, princess," he says as his dodging starts becoming intense like a game of Frogger. "I've fantasized about you wanting me but of course the real thing is even better."

When he becomes a tease too long, she tightens her legs around him and grinds them together, relishing the hard friction between her legs, and Adrien gasps and grabs her thighs like a lifeline.

"What were you saying, again?" She murmurs, not stopping her motion back and forth because she wants him more now and Adrien needs to get on her level. Adrien attacks her mouth again, heated and growling, and she sighs happily. Between kisses she mumbles, "I fantasized about you, too."

He pulls back, that happy spark in his eye. "Yeah?"

She nods then drops her legs to push Adrien backwards. He hits the couch and buckles his legs to sit, staring dazed. "Sit still," she commands. She starts working down the buttons on his collar shirt. Adrien is obediently allowing her, his chest rising and falling fast and his gaze heating her skin to an inferno. She moves lower to his belt, his adam apple clearly bobbing hard when she does, and unbuckles it enough to release the tent coming from his briefs. She strokes it once and he's bucking immediately and grabbing her wrist to press harder. She strokes just once more, savoring the grunting moan out of Adrien's mouth before kissing him then he grabs her hand and they walk to the bedroom.

She's leading him to fall backwards on the bed again, then tugs at the rest of his clothes. She's seen him at the photoshoot, but watching him flushed, ragged, and naked specifically on her bed is a new blood rushing experience. She tugs his hips until he's shuffling to the edge then kneels between them. Adrien yelps in surprise when he realizes her actions but it delves into a choked sob when she wraps her mouth around him. The taste is just like any man's but Adrien's debauched thrusts and the fingers ranking through her hair makes it feel much sweeter.

"Marinette. Marinette," he chants like a song and it doesn't take long to get him shouting. She takes him as far to the back of the throat as she can take, hollowing her cheeks and remembering to breathe through her nose. It's a bit sloppy, saliva dribbling past her lips, but the sensual ranking of nails through her hair encourages her forward. When she slides to the tip and sucks, Adrien gives an especially impressive cry and she knows he's close.

His legs are quaking when she pops off and takes his hand over hers. "Show me," she insists. She grabs his cock and he motions her on how to pleasure him. Every squeeze, the proper angle, how to occasionally tease the tip which shudders his breathing. "Just watching you— Adrien. Fuck, please, come for me, Adrien."

He does and Marinette watches the white splatter hit his red chest. His hips lurch upward and his abdomen clenches when he comes and she has to squeeze between her thighs from the arousing sight.

When he's clearly spent, she leans forward and soothes his mouth with soft kisses, languid and indulgent. He stares at her still clothed body and sits up to take his time undressing her. He has to run his hand under her skirt, his smooth hands caressing her thighs, to hike the pinafore over her head. Then he yanks off her shirt, bra, and underwear with practically a glance, and the awe in his gaze has her clenching. He brings her forward and nuzzles at her collar bone, lips brushing against her skin, and gently holds her.

"My beautiful, gorgeous, graceful, talented, and amazing, Marinette," he says, pepping kisses on her skin for each word. "I don't know how my heart hasn't stopped beating yet."

Her chest flutters and she wonders how this didn't happen sooner. Why it didn't happen sooner. "You didn't kiss me." She's suddenly reveals and feels embarrassed in an instant.

Adrien pulls back to face her, expressing a soft confusion. "What?" Probably remembering that all they've been doing is eating each other's face for twenty minutes.

"I—um," she struggles to continue but realizes Adrien cares about her now and it was just a sliver of doubt. A small thing she wanted confirmed. "In the hotel yesterday, I went in and you…ran away."

It takes him a moment and then he looks contrite. "Trust me, it wasn't  _that_  kind of running away," he starts. "If I had kissed you, I never would have let you go. Walking away would've been impossible for me." He rubs his hands from the center of her back and down to her buttocks and tugs her close to emphasize.

"I dont—?"

"You were on a job, Marinette. The last time I flirted with you on a job, you yelled at me. I couldn't imagine the consequences of having sex with you. I respect your work, I respect your passions. I would never ever get in the way of that because of my feelings for you."

Marinette's entire body buzzes on many things he just said but all she can focus on it the last bit. "Feelings for me?" She feels her face stretching into a grin and Adrien is lighting up like a red Christmas tree.

"I wasn't obvious enough?" He says. It's probably obvious she's going to say 'not really' before he continues, "Then let me prove how much I absolutely adore you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

He rolls her onto her back. He pecks soft kisses around her cheek, down her neck, then licks a strip of moisture between her ribcage. She becomes pudding under his attention, widening her legs and relaxing her muscles.

When his mouth reaches between her legs, he gives a teasing lick to her clit. Her hips jerk, not expecting the action, which causes him to smile at her. Even between her legs, he's a cheeky fox. Then his whole mouth takes her and she's lost. "Fuck—" She gasps. She couldn't describe the sensation, it's just overwhelming pleasure and her begging him to never stop.

He swirls, laps, and sucks her clit and folds without hesitation and she quakes under him to her toes. Then he's inserting a finger, the squelch of wetness echoing in her room, and pumping her along with his tongue. "Yes, yes, please. Fuck, so good, Adrien." She's babbling and seeing stars, wanting him to hear every moment of pleasure he's giving her. He adds a second finger. "Oh god, yes. Make me come, please yes, oh, right there. Adrien. Adrien. Adrien."

The coil building in her entire upper body releases in a rush. She huffs hard and gently strokes Adrien's head up to signal her end. When he gets back on his knees, she can see his new arousal bouncing between his legs. She takes a minute to catch her breath and takes his tongue back into her mouth, the overflow of emotions bleeding through her caresses down his arm.

"Condoms are in the second drawer," she mumbles, staring through half lidded eyes. His returning gaze isn't heated anymore. It's warm and fond and so damn perfect she just wants to bask in it like sunlight.

He has to raise from the bed to get to the drawer but he's back before she can blink. He unwraps the condom sleeve with his teeth and rolls it down his cock. He hovers over her, their chests barely touching, then finds her mouth again. He jerks his hips so the friction of his arousal brushes between her legs and she encourages him towards her entrance.

Then in a fluid motion he sinks into her. Her breath hitches and his deep groan reverberates next to her head. "Okay?" He asks.

She takes several seconds to let the soft burn subside. Then when she's ready she clenches her muscles around him, which causes him to groan again, and god she loves making him do that. "Take me," she tells him.

He slowly moves out and jerks back in a hard motion. It bounces her back where she clutches the headboard. He does it again and again until he hits that spot, the one that short circuits her brain, and she's clutching his arms. She can't remember what she said, she can't remember how many times he turned her into goo, and she's not even aware how many times he made her come but he fucks her for a long time. When she thinks she can't take anymore, and he should be close by then, he slows down to languid thrusts or changes their position so its pleasurable but nowhere near over.

She remembers clenching around him often, hoping it would make him come and take the final thrusts into her to finish, but he drags it out and worships her with kisses, marveling touches, and endless flattering whispers she absorbs like oxygen.

Then when her real oxygen runs low, gasping and hot as if on a dessert, he starts his final hard thrusts into her. The last position had her on her side and leg raises high but he rolls her so she's on top of him. He holds her hips and jerks into her fast. The sweat and messy hair sticks down his forehead and Marinette can taste the heat between them.

She rides him until his comes, meeting the sync thrusts in between. "Are you going to come in me, Adrien? Do you want that? For me to feel you for hours? Days? Forever?"

He tugs her head down and smashes their lips into a hard kiss and does a final hard thrust into her. His entire body melts and she knows he's spent and she couldn't go on if she wanted to either.

She lays on top of him, sweat sticking between them but the safety and comfort of his arms wrapping softly around her keeps them still. She has to move eventually and Adrien grunts as his cock comes out of her. He tosses the condom into a nearby bin then turns his head to her.

"You talk way more than I expected." He's smiling and she's too warm and sated to even feel embarrassed. She just flicks his chin.

"If you don't like it—"

"Oh, trust me, I liked it way too much." His blinding grin shines through the dim room and he rolls over to wrap her in his arms and kisses her again. "I love the way you surprise me."

Her head lays against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and she doesn't want to move for the world. So she doesn't and listens to his breathing. He kisses the top of her head and she's absolutely enamoured.

"Do you mind if I stay?"

She knows its a loaded question and she's glad he asked at all. "If you don't stay, I'll sick Chloe on you."

"Talking about other women in bed will make me jealous, princess."

She chuckles and nuzzles into his chest. He sighs above her, sounding content, and nestles himself comfortably with her in his arms. They fall asleep and nothing could move them.

/

Half the week blurs by like a blissful chapter of her life called, 'Even better than Darcy— Adrien Agreste'.

She wakes up the next morning glowing and he ravishes her just like the night before. They eat breakfast out—she declines Alya's usual invites and dodges the reason—then he drops her off at work with sweet words and sweeter kisses. Everyone notices her good mood but she doesn't reveal anything because nothing is going to get in the way of something so good.

Dodging Manon is the worst of it all because she could discover the source of Marinette's glee from one dopey grin-Marinette has to scope the lobby each day before hustling to the elevator or the stairwell. One time catches Barry talking with his boyfriend outside and asks him to distract Manon. They proceeded to be sickly cute right at the front counter and Manon had to literally cover her face she is so mortified.

Every time Marinette comes home, Adrien's there at her door moments later to spend the night together. They play games, tell stories, eat together, sleep  _a lot_  together, and basically deepen their affections at a rate that feel impossible. Marinette never had such a caring and perfect man within reach that she's half positive she's dreaming, that there has to be some sort of caveat, but each morning tugs at her heart and each night captures her soul. She misses and thinks about him so often she eventually texts him, and he gloats about earning her number with his sex skills which is so terrible she smothers him with a pillow.

On Thursday, Adrien texts and says he'll be there late after finishing up a tutoring session and Marinette has space to breathe air that isn't filled with Adrien's sweat or sweet cologne. Her senses are cleared and she takes the moment to look out the balcony.

She chose Adrien. Gosh, she even hates saying it like that but in a way that's what happened. But she admits there's a spark for Chat, a warmth for him that will never go away.

There's a lodge of guilt, or maybe accountability for tossing the feeling so quickly. Like she still hasn't forgotten Chat and not enough time has passed to really dissuade him as a candidate for her heart. She wants to be rid of it. She wants Adrien to encompass all her space so there isn't doubt or lies between them. She doesn't want to ruin them, Adrien deserves all she can give him.

If she ever truly cared about Chat, she would have revealed who she was to Manon, to Plagg, to anyone without concern to the consequences. She would have found Chat and jumped in his arms without fear of the risks. That was the difference between Adrien and him, she took the gamble to kiss Adrien in the hallway but with Chat she never really tried.

She runs down to the elevator and hopes she can catch Plagg since Manon wouldn't be there. She's going to talk to Chat tonight to put her feelings aside— admit there's someone she wants to give her all but she still cares for Chat and maybe they can be friends.

Bruce is at the front desk, reading a newspaper as usual, and glances up when Mari jogs over. She asks if Plagg is on duty and Bruce points up. Then the elevator dings again and Plagg is stepping out.

"Plagg! Hi," Marinette greets.

"Oh, hey, Marinette. How's Adrien doing? God, it was such a pain getting you two together."

"He's fine." She furrows her brows and smiles, confused. "Who got us together?"

"Ah, you know, getting the room number, tripping you when you talked to Manon—sorry about that by the way— updating him on every life detail I knew about you. Adrien is straight creepy when he likes someone. I don't get it at all."

"I'm sorry,  _what_?"

"I might have done more messing up than helping, but Adrien is the happiest I've ever seen him. He liked singing and that science stuff but he's walking on sunshine everyday. Worth it, right?" He grins.

Marinette cannot be understanding him right. That Adrien was…is…? "What's Chat's apartment number? That's what I came to ask."

"Your boyfriend hasn't taken you to his place yet? I guess it hasn't been long. Fifth floor, 12E."

She mumbles a thanks before zipping to the elevator and pressing the floor number. She sways and bounces on her heels, the glow of changing numbers like a ticking time bomb. When it dings to the floor, she jogs down until she finds the number.

Her hand raises but she hesitates, not sure if she's ready, scared that Plagg is right and what it means. She knocks three times.

The door lock clicks, the fall of the chain lock jangles like a death sentence, and it swings inwards.

"Yo, what's up, Mari?"

"N-Nino?" Marinette exclaims. "What are you doing here?"

"The usual weekend visit with my boyfriend. With the consent of Alya, of course."

"Nino, I might be two-seconds from a mental break, please don't joke with me."

He laughs. "You always get me going. Okay, sorry sorry. Adrien said he'd be back around nine, so I'm waiting for him. Want to wait inside?"

Marinette is scared to go inside and she can't even comprehend what it will be like when she looks at Adrien, knowing that she loved him before she even liked him. But she needs to clear this up. She has to know why he didn't tell her because out of all the guys she's been with, Adrien deserves the chance to explain himself.

"Yeah. How do you know Adrien?"

"Best friend in college. Well, before I dropped out," he chuckles. "I'm sure he'll tell you all the stories after you stop your honeymoon phase. Thanks for finally going out with him by the way. He's been texting me for months without doing anything. It was like watching my child trying to navigate a school crush."

"Months?" She's looking around the apartment and it's so  _Adrien_. It's cozy, filled to the brim with shelves of books, plush furniture, and many art pieces to eliminate any possible concept of minimalism. Then there's the enormous blackboard hanging on a back wall where a television would usually sit. It has scribbles of notes and math, she assumes for physics.

"Yeah, after the first week he heard you, I think. Not that I knew it was you until Alya told me. She even bet me when you guys would seal the deal. Thanks to you, I won." He waggles his brows.

Her head is swirling to comprehend all the information at once. So, basically, everyone in her life knew except for her. She's going to  _love_  for Adrien to explain this.

"Glad I could help," she says dryly. She turns the corner on the couch, towards the balcony, when she sees a small instrument next to the door window. It's a ukulele, she realizes— that certain plucking tone she could never place. She picks it up; its black with green etchings around the edges and quite light. She thrums it a few times and it doesn't have the same magical quality as Chat— _Adrien_ would produce, but it still feels like a familiar friend.

"I'm going to, um, wait in his room. Surprise him, you know?"

"Okay, Mari, you don't have to tell me. Total TMI."

She rolls her eyes as they both well know he and Alya reign supreme in telling everyone their business. Honestly she doesn't know what's going to happen when they talk, but she doesn't want Nino to see it. She walks down the obvious corridor to the bedroom and flicks on the light.

Adrien's room is even more like him—cozy, inviting, and smelling like different fruits. He has more books on multiple shelves and figurines of characters—probably from comics— on every available surface. His bed is large and very plush looking, and his floor an immaculate beige carpet. Though his apartment is filled to the brim it's impressively neat, which is more than she can say about her home.

She settles on the bed—definitely, plush— and bounces with the ukulele in her lap. She strums it randomly and hums while she thinks, the act of keeping her hands busy making it easier to not be irrational.

She came here to talk to Chat. To clear her heart and maybe become friends. But then she learns the man she's dating is the man she was originally in love with, but she chose Adrien because he...well, because  _she—_

She hears the click of the front door and Adrien greeting Nino. The mumble of their conversation echoes down the hall and Marinette steels herself. She continues randomly strumming and humming.

A few minutes later, the front door clicks again, and she assumes Nino is gone. A soft thump of steps approach the corridor and there's Adrien at the edge of her vision. Her kitty.

"Marinette?" He says, voice wavering, unsure.

She stops plucking and takes a breath. "Everyone who knows me knows I hate liars the most," she starts. "Guys who dated me with alternative motives or false promises. I was never ever going to go through that again, to be tricked into opening my heart. So I have to know, why did you lie?"

"Marinette, please. I wasn't— tricking you. I was trying to make you see me, properly."

Marinette clenches around the instrument, the image of a bullfighter holding their stance before stubborn fury, and possible heartbreak.

"I fell in love with you twice, you know." He says, and Marinette tenses. He what? "I had an image of you. What I imagined you'd be like. I dreamt of you: soft and shy, with immense kindness and spirit. I saw you so clearly and fell for you." His voice cracks like tumbling gravel. "Then you were nothing like her," Marinette flinches. "You are so much more. You're stubborn, witty, strong, high energy and the greatest person I could hope to be around every day."

The hammering of her heart, clenching and unclenching relentlessly, overwhelms Marinette's body.

He continues,"I wanted to be worthy of you. I didn't want to lose the chance to get to know you because I was impatient. Everything I've ever said or did, its because my heart was so full of you, I never could think of anything else.

"To me it was never just Adrien and Marinette. Not Chat and his Lady in the night. You are so much more than that. I didn't think. Every moment you are with me I just didn't think of it."

Marinette's eyes are blurring and swimming. She resolutely looks at the bed, knowing she needs to say her bit, its important and he needs to know.

"I had a cat." She says, trying not to give away the crack in her voice.

"What?" Adrien asks, clearly not understanding.

"I had…a uh, cat. That was really important to me."

He remains quite and lets her continue.

"I…He wasn't exactly my cat. More like the neighborhood cat. And I kind of lost him? I've been looking for him. Ever since. We use to hang out together at night and I left without telling him. And I've been looking for him.

"He, um, he had a beautiful voice. So beautiful I dreamt about him becoming  _my_  cat. So he could only sing with me. I wanted to know his fur color, his eyes, and for him to become my closest friend. My closest everything. Do you get it?"

"Marinette, please—"

"Yet, I fell for him anyway, before I knew who he was."

"Y-you—"

"I love him more now, because I didn't know who he was. I think I love him more dearly than if I had figured it out."

She finally looks directly at him, the motion spilling tears down her cheeks. She's smiling despite it. Adrien strides over to her in an instant and wipes them away with his thumbs. It smears more than clears them and she laughs at his concern when she feels so light. Lighter than she expected, and her heart is stupidly full of him. She loves him, she loves him.

She tips forward and captures him. She's kissed him so many times and it fills her so much more than before. Her heart is ready to burst and she's laughing so much their teeth clack and she doesn't care.

"My Adrien. My stupid, gorgeous, kitty. I found you."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'd like to apologize for the late-ass smut and the quick ass ending but that's what happens with zero planning lol
> 
> And yes, this is the ending!
> 
> This is my first finished long-fic. HolyHades. This is a milestone fellahs. BUT LET ME BE REAL, I COUDN'T BE HAPPIER TO BE DONE, I DON'T EVER WANNA COME BACK TO THIS STORY; SEE YA ON THE OTHER SIDE SUCKERS lol
> 
> But in seriousness, there will be an epilogue cause even though every single chapter was written on the fly, I did promise that Karaoke scene and its weird not to get that closure. But I don't know when I'll do it. But it will be done, I swear!
> 
> Again, THANK YOU AND GRAND BLESSINGS to everyone who commented throughout this story. I seriously love ya'll making my days and encouraging this hard ass craft. Pat yourself on the back, you made half this story.


	13. Bonus Alternate Ending Drafts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS ALTERNATE ENDING DRAFTS
> 
> A/N: I'm such a cheater lol I haven't posted in a while and decided to post this as filler as I'm writing more big fics.
> 
> So these are two alternate endings (which depended on my choice of pacing. Could you tell I was trying to finish fast? lol) , I drafted quite a bit of them but I read this recently and had a soft spot I suppose. This takes place after the big London trip and big sex scene. This is technically two alternate scenes depending on if I wanted to drag it out or not.
> 
> Non beta-ed, low key apologies.

* * *

 

_[Scene I- It's a Tuesday night and Marinette goes to her balcony to clear her head]_

She opens her balcony door and breathes deep. The night air runs purity into her blood and her senses clear. She leans her hands on the railing and closes her eyes, focusing on the sounds below.

She remembers another night, she was really irritated from work and came out as she usually would with Chat. He noticed how quiet she was. He called out to her, she said nothing as usual, though she really wanted to at the time for a sense of comfort.

She had cocoa in her hands, and used a spoon to tap the mug, like she was stirring too hard. He knew what she was feeling then, she doesn't know how but he knew.

He sang a song of comfort and perspective, which she later learned was "Close to You" and whenever she tapped a mug like she did that day, he would know to sing that one. She really didn't think too much of it, for the sake of her heart, and she assumed other tenants probably slid requests under his door which he happily acquiesced. Because he was that sort of kind person, and music was his medium for kindness, for expression.

The words fall from her lips now in a steady rhythm, a crackled whisper that she tries to keep to herself but it builds in crescendos like she's apologizing in some way to Chat. Sorry she couldn't wait for him, that she still loves him dearly, and sorry she didn't try harder. It's caught in the breeze, twirling like a ribbon, and ties itself perfectly into calm clarity as the words force her to imagine the object of her words.

Then she isn't alone, and she stumbles, a startled crack in her notes, and he's there. He's there and it feels like meeting a friend after centuries.

_That is why all the boys in town_

_Follow you all around_

_Just like me, they long to be_

_Close to you_

He's quiet at the end, but she knows he's there; maybe waiting on her, maybe not sure about her all together.

"Hey?" she starts. Her own voice rings in her head twelve fold, subconscious of her meek feminine tone since she's never given it before.

There's no response and she's pouting.

"This is revenge for not speaking, isn't it?"

Still nothing.

"It does feel stupid talking into the air, hoping someone is listening."

Marinette feels a flush to her toes, thinking about what she should say. What she needs to say to put her mind at ease.

"I…talked to Manon. I usually trust what she says, but, if she's right, I guess there's a million things I should tell you." She says. "But most of them are really embarrassing so if you don't give a sign you're there I'm walking out of here right now."

She waits under the dim light of the stars and moon, when a chime— no, a jingle like a bell sounds above her. Marinette breathes deep. She can do this.

"I miss you," she starts. "When I'm out here with you, there are no words. You lifted my spirits without knowing it and you dried tears when you didn't see them. You're a dear friend. More than that even, and I was insanely happy when Manon said you were looking for me. You can't know what it meant to me.

"But then I—" she chuckles "—I think I am in love with this guy who isn't you and it's really surprising. He's a dork at times, and a bit of a jerk, but he stole away everything I was ready to give you." She has to pause because she's rambling and probably revealing too much but it feels like a door closing. Like she has to tell Chat otherwise it's always a question of what-if but she doesn't want doubts.

"You're an amazing singer, I'm sure you know, but it's going to stay with me forever. A chip of my heart that has to sing with you to feel part of a whole. My name is Marinette, by the way. I only know you by Chat Noir, but at least if you still want to be friends, you can find me anytime." 

He's quiet. At least three minutes of silence and her hoping he does something, anything. Now that he knows her name, that she bared herself, maybe everything would be easy now. Friends, at least. The night sky fades from twinkling hope to an overshadowing doubt. Her small space on that balcony seeming insignificant in the space of tense silence. He doesn't do anything and all that's left is the crack in her chest and embarrassment in her throat.

"Oh," she whispers to herself. "I'm really sorry, Chat." She can't imagine why Chat would be mad enough not to respond but maybe that's the issue. She doesn't know him at all but it still hurts like hell.

She hears a definitive clack upstairs, someone else closing their balcony door and she's blinking back a tear. A past her losing something she was holding onto. When her door closes, taking the familiar cold winter air with it, the warmth in her home feels stifling, like it's choking her. But it's just the tearing clogging her throat and she feels so dumb being so sensitive, already trying to shake off the tiny drops.

Three loud bangs hit at her door and she her heart jolts. She roughly wipes at her face, sure that she looks like a puffy mess over nothing.

She opens the door and it's Adrien. Her Adrien, bright and kind, whom she just admitted she loved while cutting off part of her heart. He looks like he ran downstairs and she bets he sees her red eyes in an instant. He reaches forward and wipes below her eyes like he couldn't believe its there.

"Why were you crying?" he asks.

She doesn't want to dwell on that. She doesn't want to think how she lost Chat, she only wants to remind herself who she loves now. "It's nothing. Something unimportant." She grabs the side of Adrien's face and tugs him into the entryway, he kicks the door closed behind him.

He doesn't look like he believes her at all but the hand on his face sends electric pulses to her heart and it's beating so fast to burst.

"If it made you cry, it matters to me." His voice sounds strained, a bit on edge, but she doesn't want to care right now.

She pulls him down to capture his mouth, soft as first and wanting to coax him for more. She wants to drown in him tonight, forget the world but him.

He pulls back for a second, licking his lips and brows furrowed like he's struggling to think straight. "No, no, wait, I have to tell you-"

"It can wait," Marinette breathes and pulls him down again.

Between kisses he's still trying to talk. "It's important, and I should've-"

She shoved a leg between his legs and he became silent instantly.

Adrien's eyes got soft and he goes in for a soft kiss. "Marinette," he murmurs. Then he's capturing her lower lip and sucking it. Her tongue lashes out, immediately wanting more. "My Mari. My lady."

Then he takes her again and again throughout the night until she can't remember ever loving another person in her life.

—-

_[Scene II- Alternative to answering the door]_

It's Adrien. His hair is disheveled and eyes wild like he ran down there, He's holding a small instrument, which Mari realizes is a ukelele.

"What are you doing?" She starts smiling around her crackled throat and moves to the side so he can walk-in.

When she turns Adrien is sheepishly smiling. "Something I should've done sooner." Then he loops around her waist to give a kiss. It's slow, sweet, and curls her toes. They've had many kisses before but this one feels like more. Like pushing Chat from her heart unlocked the last bit to enjoy loving Adrien more. He pulls back when she's ready to escalate their kiss.

"I love you, too," he whispers and Marinette has to blink multiple times, her eyes widening and a red flush rising to her face.

"Y-you heard— "

Then he strums the ukulele, progressing in a smooth transition of rings in a style she heard many times before.

_Say nighty night and kiss me, just hold me tight and tell me you miss me, dream a little dream of me._

_In other words, I love you. Fly me to the moon._

_You're just too good to be true, can't keep my eyes off of you, you're like heaven to touch, but I love you so much. Now that love has arrived, I thank god I'm alive. You're just too good to be true, can't leap my eyes off of you_

"Cause I love you, baby, and— if, if it's quite alright— " she joins with him, as she was always compelled to do, but now she's sobbing out right. He was here, this whole time, as perfect, no more perfect than she imagined. She didn't guess it at all.

Maybe she thought it couldn't be that easy, maybe because he's an Agreste, maybe it's because she didn't mind falling all over again.

"You knew it was me," she says. He stops playing and she continues. "This entire time you knew."

"I didn't. Well, not until after Chloe."

She scrunches her face putting the pieces together than looks at him in horror. "You thought I was Chloe!"

"Not the best detective work, but technically Plagg's fault."

"But… _Chloe_?"

"To be fair, I was attracted to you the first moment we met and dating her didn't mean anything."

"But I don't—" She sighs. "Why didn't you tell me sooner? If you knew and I said I was waiting…"

"I wanted to see if you could like me. After the mistake with Chloe, I didn't think you would care if Chat showed up or not but Adrien was there and— Mari, it was impossible to stay away from you."

"Well congratulations, stupid cat."

"What?" He looks panicked, wild eyed.

"You made me fall for you twice. And you have a lot to make up for." She kisses him, absorbs him, feels him, accepts him.

"Let me love you, Marinette," he mumbles between her desperate kisses. "Please, let me."

"My kitty. You stupid underhanded cat. You found me."


End file.
